Title:  A Day at the Beach
Author:  scifi_gk
Claim:  BtVS (fandom)
Pairing:  Buffy/Spike
Prompt:  001 - Day
Rating:  NC-17 (duh, it’s SMUT. lol)
Summary:  After the events of Becoming pt 1 & 2, Buffy isn’t the only one that has issues to deal with.  Set during Season 3’s Anne.
Disclaimer:  I don’t even own my time.  Please don’t sue.  It’s just smut. ;-)
Author’s note:  For the LJ community of 50_SmutletsAcknowledgements:  Thanks to Deanie and Gail for their beta jobs.  You guys rock!

~~~***~~~

Somewhere in South America

Drusilla eased the door closed behind her just as the sun peaked over the horizon.  Wiping her slime-covered hands on her equally slime spattered dress, she walked into the sitting room of the hacienda Spike had arranged for them. 

She stood, eyeing the vampire.  He was sprawled across the colorful sofá as if he had fallen asleep while waiting for her return. 

My beautiful, treacherous knight.  Princess is very cross with you.

She missed her Spike but she couldn’t forgive him.  He had broke faith with her to walk in the Sunshine.  And, now, he tasted like ashes.

It made no difference that Dru had turned away from him.  Daddy had called, and like a good little girl, she had left her playthings and come. 

That was how Daddy had made her.

The pixies whispered in her ears all the delights that Daddy had given her upon his return and they compared them to the years in Spike’s arms, but her mind just couldn’t justify the two.

Spike was her Dark Knight.  He walked in worlds that mortals just couldn’t understand.  He was...effulgent.

But he wasn’t Daddy.

And Daddy was her King.

Except Daddy was gone, wiped out by that nasty Sunshine.

Oh, she knew.  She knew that one of Sunshine’s little friends had forced that horrid soul back into Daddy.  The pixies told her.  They also told her that, even after that, as if that wasn’t torment enough, the vile child had sent her Daddy on to damnation.

One day...one day, that horrible girl would pay.

Dru paused, tilting her head and listening.

Oh!  Oh, yes, that would be very wicked, indeed.

Miss Edith was right.  She must do something.  And what better way to punish her naughty Prince?

A malicious smile tipped her lips and she clapped her hands together in anticipation, giggling softly.  If Spike had been awake, he would have been very nervous. 

But he wasn’t awake.

She approached him quietly, repeating words and incantations that tickled and flitted by her ears.  The room hummed with dark energy and Spike’s brow drew into a slight crease as he frowned in his sleep.

Dru leaned over his sleeping form, reached out her right hand and gently touched his creased brow with her middle finger.

“Somnio,” she whispered.

Immediately, his face went slack and his eyes began to dart back and forth beneath his closed lids. 

As Dru laughed, Spike dreamed.

~~~***~~~

He stood on a beach in the meager shade cast by a Lifeguard tower.  He wore a button down shirt in a rich burgundy that hung, untucked and half-open, showing a fair amount of pale pectoral muscles.  His slacks were dark linen, cuffed at the ankles as if he were intended to approach the water, and the sand was cool beneath his bare feet.

Spike had spent over one hundred years in the dark and had no desire to burst into a human – well, vampire – torch, so he followed his instinct and pressed back against the peeling wood of the tower to keep his toes out of the sunlight.

Sunlight.

Spike couldn’t remember the last time he’d dreamt of sunlight.  And that’s what this had to be.  A dream.  He knew he was still on the uncomfortable sofa in the hacienda he shared with his unfaithful sire.

He remembered scouring the small South American town for Drusilla and coming up empty.  When the bint wanted to, she could do a right fine job of disappearing.  She was still pissed about his creative solution to ‘Daddy’ and the end of the world scheme and she was planning on drawing out his misery.

Only, she didn’t bite and claw at him.  Or tie him up and punish him with whips, knives and nails so that he would learn his lesson.  No.  What she did was worse.

She ignored him.

Yeah, she came back to him every dawn.  She came back covered in the scents of whatever filthy, vile thing she allowed to rut on her and she slipped beneath the sheets of their bed, sometimes going so far as to rub up against him so that the scents stained his flesh as well.  When he was nearly gagging on the stench she would turn, giving him her back and go to sleep without saying a word.

Oh, she was cruel, his Dark Princess.

No, this beach, this was definitely a dream because she was here.

Blonde hair.  Green eyes.  Golden skin.

Strength.  Light.  Passion.

The Slayer.

He’d dreamt of her before.  His fangs sliding into her tender neck.  Her strong Slayer’s blood flooding his mouth and hardening his body.  Dreamt of draining her dry and letting her limp corpse slide boneless to the ground.

That was a good one.

A good one, but one he hadn’t had, strangely enough, since the stupid bint had spread her dimpled knees and allowed the great wanker to pop her cherry. 

And he wasn’t even going to try to analyze that.

Okay, so it was a dream.  But it wasn’t his dream.  No.  Spike was quite sure of that.  This dream had a different...texture .  A different...flavor than his dreams. 

It smelled of magic.

Likely, he was under a sleep spell of some kind and someone was directing his dreaming. 

Or, it was even possible - not likely, but possible - that he’d been pulled into the Slayer’s dream.

She stood alone, the shoreline stretching out empty as far as the eye could see in either direction.  She wore a lilac sundress with little flowers on it, all feminine and flowy.  Her arms were bare and golden, as well as a goodly expanse of legs as she clutched the dress in one hand to keep the breeze from blowing it up indecently.

Like a flower, she turned her face up to the sun, closing her eyes and...well, basking in it.

She was a vision.

Right up until his great lump of a grandsire appeared out of nowhere to slide his arms around her waist from behind.

Angel stood unafraid in the sunlight, clutching her back to his chest, and being clutched in return.  Even though Spike was a good 30 feet away behind the tower and the waves crashed rhythmically on the shore, Spike had no trouble hearing their words.

“How did you find me here?” the Slayer asked, her voice tentative.

“If I was blind, I’d see you.”

Spike snorted.  He was not surprised that the tremendous wanker hadn’t answered her question, but the Slayer didn’t seem to mind.  She was too busy trying to get him to promise not to leave.

And he did.

When she asked him to stay with her, he said, “Forever.  That’s the whole point.  I’ll never leave.”

He leaned in and whispered in her ear but Spike heard it like he was standing next to them, “Even if you kill me.”

Spike blinked and Angel was gone.

Wha-?

The Slayer spun around, looking in vain for the great git, then collapsed to her knees in the sand, sobbing.

Something stirred inside of Spike.

She looked so lost.  So alone.  So...lonely.  Spike could relate to that and her tears ate at him.

The feeling was wrong.  He should be rejoicing in her pain, in the salty scent of her tears that competed with the salty scent of the Pacific. 

But he wasn’t.

He should be thinking about his ripe, wicked plum and how he could use the Slayer’s pain from this dream to maybe brighten Dru’s mood and get himself out of the doghouse.

But he wasn’t.

Instead, he was thinking about stepping out into the lethal sunlight and wrapping his arms around the broken girl to comfort her.

Spike felt a tightening in his gut, and the presence of magic that had been lingering around him grew stronger.  Fear sharpened his will and he struggled against the pull - to remain in control.  His legs trembled and his hands shook with the effort.  For just a minute, he thought he might break the magic’s hold.  But then the sounds of her weeping wrapped around him, coiling about his limbs like a steel band. 

Moving him against his will. 

He stepped out of the questionable safety of the tower’s shadow and into the sunlight.

When he realized that he couldn’t fight the pull, he had steeled himself for the burning he associated with sunlight but all he felt was a soft glow and a long forgotten warmth that caressed his pale skin.

As is the way with some dreams, time shifted.  In one step he had covered the distance between them, casting his shadow over the weeping girl.

She snapped her head up, a look of painful longing and hope in her eyes, only to evaporate like smoke in a strong breeze when her eyes settled on him.

“Spike?”  She whipped her head around, looking up and down the beach, but there was no one else and her eyes settled back on him.

“Slayer.” 

He nodded once slowly, then tipped his head to one side, taking in her tear-streaked face, the way her upturned nose had blushed a pretty pink, the way her eyes were just a bit swollen.  She should have looked wrecked, but she looked glorious in her pain and Spike wanted to lean down and taste her tears.

By god, he felt his body harden just thinking about it.

Her sobbing had stopped the minute his shadow fell across her, but the tears still slid silently down her face.  Her voice was thick with them even after she swallowed and moistened her lips.

“How did you find me here?”

Spike wanted to laugh.  He wanted to curl his tongue up and touch his teeth and say something that would bring anger, hate, anything besides that devastated, broken look in her eyes.

He wasn’t in control of it, but it seemed so natural to kneel in the sand beside her and place his hand against her cheek, brushing the tears away with his thumb.  The words bubbled up without thought, too.

“If I was blind, I’d see you.”

Bloody Buggering Hell!

Spike tried to fling himself back from her.  Hell, even falling on his ass and skittering away like a damn crab would be less humiliating than what he suspected was coming as the next wave of magic washed over him.

Her eyes lost their focus, a frown marring her features, but then she shook her head and he was drowning in her green gaze.  She turned her face into his palm and, making the statement a timid question, said, “Stay with me?”

He clenched his teeth, willing himself not to let loose the words that wanted out, but whatever or whoever had worked the spell was stronger then him.

“Forever,” he heard himself say, and he was surprised to find that a small part of him wanted to say the words – meant every syllable. “That’s the whole point.  I’ll never leave.”  Tilting his head and giving her a small smile he said, without malice, without scorn, with simple truth, “Even if you kill me.”

He felt the magic wash over them in a wave, coming from behind the dream Slayer, flowing through her like she was a ghost and bearing her essence to him, knocking him over, laying him flat out on the sand, a rich tingling dancing across every part of his skin, covered or uncovered.

God.  He was drowning in her.

When her shadow fell over him, her concerned face hovering just inches from his own, he drew in a shocked and shaky breath, staring at her with amazed eyes, and all at once control returned to his limbs.

“Spike?” she whispered, her breath sweet and warm and, oh so real against his skin.  “Are you—”

He didn’t let her finish.  Lightning fast, he reached his hand behind her neck, pulling her those few extra inches to bring her mouth to his, warm lips pressed against his cool ones. 

She gave a surprised little ‘eep’ which gave him an opening and he expertly exploited it, slipping his tongue into the sweet cavern of her mouth.

As a human, his poncy, poet-self, William, had secretly craved sweets, though he was a grown man.  The way they flowed over his taste buds, making them all sit up and tingle, was such a visceral pleasure for him. 

When he had been turned, sweets never tasted the same, though he still had a hankering for traditional food.  He had merely traded in sweet for spicy so as to cut through the dulling effects of being undead. 

The only thing since his turning that even came close to the amazing flavor he was now enjoying in the Slayer’s mouth was hot, fresh blood.

And if he was completely honest with himself, blood was second on the list.

The minute his tongue entered her mouth, he felt her stiffen.  But as he continued, sensually, thoroughly exploring her mouth, the restraining hand at the back of her head became unnecessary.  She melted against him, the soft warmth of her body settling against his chest as she gave in to the kiss.

When her tongue made the first tentative exploration of its own, desire burst through him, tightening his already painfully taut body, and he flipped them, pinning her surprised body to the sand beneath him, ripping his mouth free.

Her eyes were wide and she looked as gobsmacked as he felt.  Her mouth, slightly swollen from his kiss, was opening and closing in tiny movements but no sound emerged.  He watched, transfixed as the tip of her pink tongue flicked out to run over her lips.

The groan rushed from him but he was already moving to capture the wet flesh, sucking hard and drawing it firmly into his own mouth.  He felt her twitch in surprise at the quick movement, but once there, she seemed content to stay, running her tongue hesitantly around his mouth.

God, she was delicious.

As her kiss grew bolder, her body unconsciously moved against him, straining to get closer and Spike was buggered.

His hands flew over her, molding themselves to the lines of her body, soaking up the heat of her skin, exploring the textures of the silky fabric that covered her taut muscles and feminine curves as he eased the hem of the dress higher. 

He couldn’t stop.  He couldn’t be everywhere he wanted to be because he wanted to be everywhere at once.  He hadn’t been this frantic during love play since...

Since never.

Not even the first time.

Spike slid his hands up the silky expanse of her thighs and brushed aside the tiny scrap of fabric that was her knickers, trailing his fingers across her sodden center, and by god, she burned !

“Spike? ”

The uncertainty in the breathy exclamation brought him up short and before he met her eyes he prayed, actually prayed, right there and then, that she wouldn’t turn him away from the heaven that was literally so close at hand.

“What...what are we--?”

“Buffy,” he whispered against her lips. “Shhh.  Please,” he begged.  “Please, let me.  Let me show you how you should’ve been loved.  How you could be loved.  Please, pet.  I’ll make it so good for you.  So good, I promise.”

When her questioning eyes settled on his lips, he held his breath, waiting for the inevitable rejection.

It never came.

Without taking her eyes off his mouth, she gave a tiny nod and he didn’t hesitate.  Grabbing her thighs, one in each hand, he separated her legs, wrapping them around his hips and opening her to his questing fingers and he sunk two fingers into her dripping sex.

If fire were a satiny, liquid flame it wouldn’t have been half as hot as the core of this girl, this Slayer, this...

Buffy.  Oh, to turn to ash in her embrace!

He pumped his fingers deep and slow, grunting his satisfaction when she began moving against him, instinctively matching his lead. 

He had thought she would be a timid lover, bruised by Angelus’ vicious taunts, but her passion was not shy or inhibited in the least.  When she wanted a certain spot attended to she merely moved herself so that he was attending it.  If that wasn’t possible, she didn’t seem to have any compunction about moving his hand to where she wanted it to be.

God, she was beautiful.

He nearly wept to be inside her, to hear those tiny little whimpers in his ear, as he thrust his aching flesh in a hard, steady rhythm.

As if sensing this, she slid her hands to the fastening of his pants and began extracting him from the prison his trousers had become.

When he sprang free, fully and painfully aroused, she didn’t waste any words, simply brought him to her quim and, gripping his hips with her legs, thrust him inside.

Time stood still.

Spike could hear her thundering pulse.  He could smell her potent arousal.  He could taste the sweet flavor of her mouth on his tongue.  He could feel the warmth of the sun on his back even through the fabric of his shirt.  Which he could also feel as it rubbed against his abdomen from the pressure of her body.

But mostly he felt the burning, scorching heat surrounding his cock and cascading through the no longer cool flesh of his body.

A dream had never been this vivid.  A dream couldn’t be this vivid.

Before he could contemplate that any further, Buffy tilted her pelvis and all coherent thought evaporated.  The only thing he knew was motion, movement, friction, gliding, sliding, slapping, flesh against flesh in a glorious dance that brought him closer and closer to a precipice he was not sure he would survive.

He couldn’t shut up.  Words of devotion, of love, promises of forever, came spilling from his lips and he meant every bloody one of them .

“Buffy, luv, so beautiful, so tight, so hot, you burn me alive, luv.  Need you, can’t get enough of you, never leave you, luv, never, not until ‘m dust, I swear it.  I swear.”

When Buffy gave a mewling little shriek and her internal muscles clamped down on him, he didn’t care if he survived.

As he exploded into her depths, the heat that had built in his body from Buffy’s warmth flashed painfully into flame and he felt himself crumble to dust.

~~~***~~~

Somewhere in South America

Spike jerked awake screaming.  He flung himself from the sofá , twirling around and patting at his flesh as if to put out the dream flames and only slowly became aware that he was solid, unburned...whole.

Drawing great gasping breaths, he ran his shaking hands through his sleep-mussed hair and turned back toward the couch…

And came face to face with his wide-eyed Sire.

He swallowed.

He could still smell the lovely fragrance of sunshine and salty sea air.  The subtle perfume the Slayer had worn.  But mostly, the scent of sex that had permeated the dream at the end.

And he could still taste her, the Slayer, on his tongue.

And she was still sweeter than blood.

He met his Sire’s stunned gaze with a look he was sure mirrored hers, with a generous helping of ‘utterly and completely terrified’ on top of it.

“Dru? ” he croaked out in barely a whisper.

She turned away from him, and as she did she stirred the air around them, and Spike became aware of the stench that clung to her. 

It nearly matched the one that clung to him.

~~~***~~~

Somewhere in Los Angeles, wrapped in the veil of sleep and dreams, a Slayer wept, alone.