A Day at the Shore
Title: A Day at the Shore
Author: ReaderJane
Timeline: BtVS Season 7
Prompt: Charon the Ferryman
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Still not mine, alas
"So this Orpheus bloke, he played the lyre."
"Mmm hm. A little to the left." Buffy stretched her neck, encouraging Spike's hands higher on her shoulder. "What's a lyre?"
"Ancient Greek guitar." Spike dug his thumbs into the muscle. Buffy hummed and leaned into him, sloshing the bathwater. "He was going to marry a bird named Eurydice."
"Poor girl. A name like that's a lot to overcome." Buffy scooped soapsuds toward her, piling them up into mountains. Spike ran his palms down the lovely curve of her neck.
"Girl had more trouble than a dodgy name. Before the wedding, she got bit by a snake and died. Probably a demon snake. Could've used a Slayer."
"I thought we weren't going to talk about work." Buffy pointedly handed him the soap.
Spike lathered his hands, then swept them up and down her back. "Sorry, love. This is important."
Bam bam bam bam bam. "Buffyyy!" Dawn's impatient voice came through the door. "You said you'd only take an hour. Are you done in there yet?"
"We're on vacation. Go away." Buffy grabbed her drink from the edge of the tub. She sipped at the straw, then speared a pineapple chunk with the little umbrella. Spike leaned forward to accept the fruit.
He slid his soapy hands to her breasts. "Mmmm," Buffy murmured. "This was a good idea." She tipped her head back onto his shoulder, gazing at the travel posters taped on the ceiling.
"So Orpheus, he decides he's gonna get his girl back."
Buffy murmured a noncommittal response. Spike kept his hands moving as he continued.
"He grabs his lyre and heads for the Underworld."
"Wouldn't it make more sense to grab a sword?"
"He's not a hero, right?" Pause for more soap. "He's an ace musician. Buys his way across the River Styx with a tune for the ferryman. Plays the guard dog, Cerberus, to sleep. Figures he'll charm the King of Hell into giving her back."
Buffy snorted. "He didn't know too many demon kings."
"But that's the thing -- he did it! Orpheus played so well, the king agreed to let Eurydice go."
"Boys and their guitars." He felt her chuckle.
"And this is the important part--"
Bam bam bam. Andrew called peevishly, "Some of us have to pee, you know."
"Sod off!" Spike reached over, dripping, and flung a boot at the door. "Piss on a tree."
Andrew grumbled, his voice fainter as he stomped down the hall. "There's too many girls around."
Spike murmured into Buffy's ear. "The shades of the dead tried to grasp Orpheus with their cold fingers." He swept a soapy hand down Buffy's stomach.
Buffy gasped. "Pretty sure that's not where their cold dead fingers landed. Good thing your hands are warm from the bathwa-- aah!"
Tap tap. "Um, Buffy?" Vi's voice came hesitantly through the door. "There's only one bathroom, and a lot of people living here. Could you and Spike maybe move to the basement?"
Buffy slurped the last of her drink. "On vacation!" she caroled. She stretched one finger to the chair beside the tub and turned up the volume on the CD player. Steel guitar music twanged, accompanied by the sound of waves.
Spike pulled her back against him.
"Again?" She wriggled around until she was facing Spike. He couldn't help but grin at her happy smile.
"You really are insatiable." Buffy set down her empty glass and knelt astride him.
"I'll never stop being hungry for you."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "When did I lose the line between sweet and creepy?" She gave him a long, wet kiss, then plucked a bottle from the shower caddy and squirted shampoo into her palm.
"What are you--" Spike began as Buffy's hands moved toward his hair. "No. Not the flowery stuff, I absolutely--" His eyes rolled back as she settled onto his lap. "Right. Flowery it is." Buffy started a slow rhythm, matching the flexing of her fingers to her hips.
"So what was the important part?"
"Hmm?"
"The Orpheus story. With the cold dead fingers. Did he have to strum until his hands burned up or something?" She worked her soapy fingers through his hair.
Wrapped in soft and wet, he couldn't make sense of her words. "Ah. The story." Spike gazed past Buffy's ear to the beach scene taped on the ceiling. White sand. Palm trees and sunlight and Buffy, rising and falling above him. "Orpheus couldn't look back. Once his girl was with him, they had to walk all the way out of Hades without looking back. Or she'd be trapped there forever."
"Buffy!" Bam bam bammity bam. "I'm all for an afternoon of sex and surf, but things are getting desperate out here." Spike could hear Anya's foot tapping. "I'm taking the Potentials out for pizza. At least Pizza Hut has a public ladies' room. It's going on your credit card."
"My-- what?" Buffy sat up abruptly. Spike groaned in frustration.
"Don't listen to them, love." He grabbed for her waist, but there wasn't an inch of her not slick with sweat, and she was over the side of the tub before he could wipe the suds from his eyes. The room abruptly grew colder. The Hawaiian music cut off.
The bugger of owning a vivid imagination was, it was such a wrench to come back to reality. Spike mourned the warmth of the steamy bathroom, the fading glow of sunset round the edges of the window blinds. Gone were the Slayer's heartbeat and the scent of her girly shampoo.
In their place was the dry cold of the cavern. Rope burns on his wrists, rough stone against his naked back. The lingering reek of the Turok-Han.
Spike looked up to see his tormentor eyeing him, knife in hand. It wasn't Buffy. It only looked like her. None of the taunts would mean anything.
"A knife, now, is it?" It was important not to let the First see him shudder. "You can't hurt me. You're -- you're just a bloody figment, you are."
The apparition stepped closer. A moment before the blade reached Spike's arm, the roughly bandaged cut on her cheek registered. Figments couldn't be injured. This was -- this was --
Spike gulped. Oh, love. Buffy cut his right wrist free. His hand fell upon her shoulder. Warm. I'll be your Eurydice. She freed his left hand. Your soldier, your dog, your slave, your sacrifice. Buffy ducked beneath his arm, holding him up. You broke into hell to bring this dead man out. I'll be your anything.
They took a few steps together. Spike stumbled. Buffy half-turned to hitch his arm more securely round her shoulders.
"Eyes front," he whispered. He tugged her til she faced the exit. Together they started the long march home.
Author: ReaderJane
Timeline: BtVS Season 7
Prompt: Charon the Ferryman
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Still not mine, alas
"So this Orpheus bloke, he played the lyre."
"Mmm hm. A little to the left." Buffy stretched her neck, encouraging Spike's hands higher on her shoulder. "What's a lyre?"
"Ancient Greek guitar." Spike dug his thumbs into the muscle. Buffy hummed and leaned into him, sloshing the bathwater. "He was going to marry a bird named Eurydice."
"Poor girl. A name like that's a lot to overcome." Buffy scooped soapsuds toward her, piling them up into mountains. Spike ran his palms down the lovely curve of her neck.
"Girl had more trouble than a dodgy name. Before the wedding, she got bit by a snake and died. Probably a demon snake. Could've used a Slayer."
"I thought we weren't going to talk about work." Buffy pointedly handed him the soap.
Spike lathered his hands, then swept them up and down her back. "Sorry, love. This is important."
Bam bam bam bam bam. "Buffyyy!" Dawn's impatient voice came through the door. "You said you'd only take an hour. Are you done in there yet?"
"We're on vacation. Go away." Buffy grabbed her drink from the edge of the tub. She sipped at the straw, then speared a pineapple chunk with the little umbrella. Spike leaned forward to accept the fruit.
He slid his soapy hands to her breasts. "Mmmm," Buffy murmured. "This was a good idea." She tipped her head back onto his shoulder, gazing at the travel posters taped on the ceiling.
"So Orpheus, he decides he's gonna get his girl back."
Buffy murmured a noncommittal response. Spike kept his hands moving as he continued.
"He grabs his lyre and heads for the Underworld."
"Wouldn't it make more sense to grab a sword?"
"He's not a hero, right?" Pause for more soap. "He's an ace musician. Buys his way across the River Styx with a tune for the ferryman. Plays the guard dog, Cerberus, to sleep. Figures he'll charm the King of Hell into giving her back."
Buffy snorted. "He didn't know too many demon kings."
"But that's the thing -- he did it! Orpheus played so well, the king agreed to let Eurydice go."
"Boys and their guitars." He felt her chuckle.
"And this is the important part--"
Bam bam bam. Andrew called peevishly, "Some of us have to pee, you know."
"Sod off!" Spike reached over, dripping, and flung a boot at the door. "Piss on a tree."
Andrew grumbled, his voice fainter as he stomped down the hall. "There's too many girls around."
Spike murmured into Buffy's ear. "The shades of the dead tried to grasp Orpheus with their cold fingers." He swept a soapy hand down Buffy's stomach.
Buffy gasped. "Pretty sure that's not where their cold dead fingers landed. Good thing your hands are warm from the bathwa-- aah!"
Tap tap. "Um, Buffy?" Vi's voice came hesitantly through the door. "There's only one bathroom, and a lot of people living here. Could you and Spike maybe move to the basement?"
Buffy slurped the last of her drink. "On vacation!" she caroled. She stretched one finger to the chair beside the tub and turned up the volume on the CD player. Steel guitar music twanged, accompanied by the sound of waves.
Spike pulled her back against him.
"Again?" She wriggled around until she was facing Spike. He couldn't help but grin at her happy smile.
"You really are insatiable." Buffy set down her empty glass and knelt astride him.
"I'll never stop being hungry for you."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "When did I lose the line between sweet and creepy?" She gave him a long, wet kiss, then plucked a bottle from the shower caddy and squirted shampoo into her palm.
"What are you--" Spike began as Buffy's hands moved toward his hair. "No. Not the flowery stuff, I absolutely--" His eyes rolled back as she settled onto his lap. "Right. Flowery it is." Buffy started a slow rhythm, matching the flexing of her fingers to her hips.
"So what was the important part?"
"Hmm?"
"The Orpheus story. With the cold dead fingers. Did he have to strum until his hands burned up or something?" She worked her soapy fingers through his hair.
Wrapped in soft and wet, he couldn't make sense of her words. "Ah. The story." Spike gazed past Buffy's ear to the beach scene taped on the ceiling. White sand. Palm trees and sunlight and Buffy, rising and falling above him. "Orpheus couldn't look back. Once his girl was with him, they had to walk all the way out of Hades without looking back. Or she'd be trapped there forever."
"Buffy!" Bam bam bammity bam. "I'm all for an afternoon of sex and surf, but things are getting desperate out here." Spike could hear Anya's foot tapping. "I'm taking the Potentials out for pizza. At least Pizza Hut has a public ladies' room. It's going on your credit card."
"My-- what?" Buffy sat up abruptly. Spike groaned in frustration.
"Don't listen to them, love." He grabbed for her waist, but there wasn't an inch of her not slick with sweat, and she was over the side of the tub before he could wipe the suds from his eyes. The room abruptly grew colder. The Hawaiian music cut off.
The bugger of owning a vivid imagination was, it was such a wrench to come back to reality. Spike mourned the warmth of the steamy bathroom, the fading glow of sunset round the edges of the window blinds. Gone were the Slayer's heartbeat and the scent of her girly shampoo.
In their place was the dry cold of the cavern. Rope burns on his wrists, rough stone against his naked back. The lingering reek of the Turok-Han.
Spike looked up to see his tormentor eyeing him, knife in hand. It wasn't Buffy. It only looked like her. None of the taunts would mean anything.
"A knife, now, is it?" It was important not to let the First see him shudder. "You can't hurt me. You're -- you're just a bloody figment, you are."
The apparition stepped closer. A moment before the blade reached Spike's arm, the roughly bandaged cut on her cheek registered. Figments couldn't be injured. This was -- this was --
Spike gulped. Oh, love. Buffy cut his right wrist free. His hand fell upon her shoulder. Warm. I'll be your Eurydice. She freed his left hand. Your soldier, your dog, your slave, your sacrifice. Buffy ducked beneath his arm, holding him up. You broke into hell to bring this dead man out. I'll be your anything.
They took a few steps together. Spike stumbled. Buffy half-turned to hitch his arm more securely round her shoulders.
"Eyes front," he whispered. He tugged her til she faced the exit. Together they started the long march home.