THE MUSES ARE RESTLESS
by perletwo
Buffy sighed and plopped back onto a particularly inviting-looking cloud, raising a nimbus of wispy smoke around her on impact.
"Rough day at the office, luv?" Spike materialized alongside her, managing to lounge elegantly without actually having anything solid to lounge against.
"Oh, same ol' same ol', y'know, just lots and lots of it," she said wearily. "They're all so wigged out waiting for Seeing Red to air they've been typing their little fingers to the bone all day. I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere, y'know?" She waved her fingers languidly, and Spike groaned in sympathy.
"And the mood swings! One fic I'm all happy!perky!Buffy, next one I'm the Misery Chick, next one I'm scary!homicidal!Buffy. It's enough to give a girl a complex!" She sighed again.
"Yep, been there, done that all day m'self, luv. In some'a the same fics as you, might I add." He lit up a cigarette. "Could be worse. Least in the fanfics we still get to shag like minks in heat..."
"Hel-LO-oo? High altitudes, pure oxygen? Some of us still have LUNGS here!"
Spike rolled his eyes. "Hel-LO-oo, imaginary cigarette? We're figments of other people's imaginations, remember?"
Her eyes narrowed. "It's all YOUR fault, y'know, mister," she said, pointing an accusing finger at him, and his hand flew to his chest, all wounded innocence. "If you hadn't gone whispering in that Fury guy's ear, giving him all these ideas for icky things for you to do on the show, we wouldn't be running our butts off trying to keep up with all the fanfiction!"
"What can I tell you, pet?" He dropped into a Backstreet Boys stance and warbled falsetto, "I wanna be BAD - you make that look so good - I,I wannabe BAAAD -" and loped through a few teen-idol dance moves.
Buffy giggled incredulously. "Where the *heck* did *that* come from?" To her surprise, Spike blushed.
"Sorry there, pet, just came from a job some teenybopper fic writers 'ad for me. That was playin' in the background, it's stuck in my 'ead now. Actually, I think I may've pulled somethin' there. Mind if I sit?"
"Sure. Pull up some cirrus." She scooted over on the cloud, and he dropped onto it gratefully, rubbing the long muscle of one thigh.
"Any'ow, it's 'ardly like you've never fed a bad idea to the Noxon chippie, now is it? I mean, bringin' Captain Cardboard back? After you'd 'ad *me?*"
Buffy let out another sigh. "All right, I'll give you that one. I just was so tired of all the angst, a little nice corny romance seemed like a good idea at the time. Who knew she'd throw in the Mary Sue from Hell as a two-fer?"
He nodded enthusiastically in agreement. "Writers. You just can't trust 'em. 'Ere we bust our 'umps all day every day in their fics, and wot's the thanks we get?" He finished his massage and stretched his legs out.
"Wouldn't have a ...cramp... I could help you with, would you?" Buffy purred, trailing a fingertip along his leg.
He sighed. "Don't I wish! I'm afraid those gutter penguins've worn me out today. I'm almost looking forward to Seeing Red, just so's I can give the equipment a rest!"
"I'd sympathize, but I pretty much used up my reserve commiserating with Anya!muse over Hell's Bells," she said, and leaned her head back, eyeing him strangely. "Spike?"
"H'mmm?" He opened his eyes to look at her.
"D'you ever wonder what it'd've been like if they'd let us get married when we wanted to, back in season 4? All this Hell's Bells stuff's had me thinking about Something Blue a lot lately."
Spike considered this. "The marriage itself, or just the wedding?"
"Mmm...just the wedding, I guess. It was the toxic-waste bridesmaid dresses that got me started. Though electric green is Dawn's color, actually. Who knew? Besides Glory, I mean."
"Well, first off, only way I can see us makin' it to the altar is if we'd eloped," he said. "Before Willow put the whammy on us. Or off of us. Whatever."
"I guess," she said dreamily. "Still, it'd be awfully nice to have a real wedding, don't you think? With at least a few people there? Mom, Giles, Dawn if she exists...Me in a really nice dress, you in all black..."
He snorted, suppressed it and nearly choked, and she looked up, a smile hovering around her mouth. "Go ahead. Say it, whatever it is. You know what happens when muses try to repress."
"Chaos." He nodded. "Sure you won't 'it me?" She held up two fingers in the Girl Scout salute. "You never! - Okay, 'ere goes: This is Martha Stewart." He held up one hand, palm up. "This is Martha Stewart on drugs." He held up his other hand just above Buffy's head, and she giggled.
"Okaay, okay, so maybe my soirees have not always been of the good," she agreed. "Still, wouldn't it be nice if we were able to have all the sex without all the angst by now? I mean, all the way into season 6, for heaven's sakes!"
"I wouldn't say no, pet," he said. "But then, I never could say no to you..." He leaned in for a teasing, feathery kiss.
"Spike..." she breathed, tickling his lips with the motion.
"Mm-hmmm?"
"You know those imaginary cigarettes you were talking about?"
"Mm-hmmm...."
"What would you say if I told you I had some imaginary Viagra?"
He growled, and upended the cloud, pulling it over them like a fluffy white quilt.