Busby Berkeley Dreams

D M Evans

Disclaimer - not mine. Mr Whedon et al owns all

Rating - FRT

Time Line - early 1930's

Pairing - Spike/Dru

Summary - Spike goes along with another of Drusilla's mysterious plans.

Author's Note - This is a severely delayed song title drabble for a2zmom. The song title was Busby Berkeley Dreams by (I think) The Magnetic Fields. The movie Busby is directing in this drabble is Footlight Parade circa 1933.

"Why are we here, pet?" Spike knew Drusilla often didn't like to be out and about in the day, clinging to the shadows and taking risks, so it had taken him by surprise when she suggested this shadow-cloaked outing.

"They swirl and twirl like fireflies in the summer," Drusilla purred, her hips swaying suggestively.

"That didn't clear it up, pet." Spike ached for a cigarette but she had forbidden it for today. Some mumbo-jumbo about it being a downfall to her plan, whatever the hell it was.

Spike glanced around the bustling studio. There were plenty of shadows to hide in within the building. Spike could honestly say he'd never been all that interested in seeing how movies were made, thought he would love to have met some of the actresses with the kohl-lined eyes. They had looked like tasty tidbits. He had no idea Drusilla would want to see a movie being made as much as she enjoyed the flickering images that splashed across the silver screen.

The one thing Spike worried about were the sheer numbers of people around. Sooner or later they were bound to be noticed but Drusilla didn't seem to care. Her concentration was totally on the lean man Spike figured had to be the director the way he was barking at everyone. Her attention eventually wandered from him to one of the actors. While Spike appreciated the risque humor - something else he wasn't expecting - he didn't like the way Dru was looking at the man.

"Who is that, ducks?"

"James Cagney...so pretty. I need to eat him up and make him one of us," Dru sighed.

Spike made note to kill the bastard before he had to share his bed with him. He had had his fill of sharing Drusilla when Angelus was still alive.

"All right, we need to start blocking the Kaleidoscope choreography," the director said.

"Right away Mr. Berkeley," someone said.

"This is why we are here...all the pretty fireflies," Dru said, grabbing Spike's arm.

"Dancing? I'm not a bloody poof like Angelus, pet," Spike groaned.

Dru ran a hand over his cheek. "You'll like this my lovely boy."

Spike snorted at her, wondering if now was his time to sneak away and snuff that Cagney bloke before Dru had a run at him. The stage crew was busy with something that looked like a giant four tiered wedding cake. Spike was bored but Dru had a good hold on him. He'd have to make a scene to escape and so far they had not been noticed. He wasn't about to screw that up now.

"Here they come, the fireflies." Dru bounced a little.

Spike rolled his eyes, reaching for a cigarette, to hell with what Dru wanted. His hand stopped half way as showgirl after half naked showgirl trotted out onto the sound stage. Their shapely bodies dripped with sparkly rhinestones and jewelry. Spike wasn't sure but he might have just drooled on himself. "Dru, your fireflies..."

"Lovely aren't they? Shall we drink up a few later?" Her blue eyes glinted evilly.

"Absolutely." Spike put his arms around her. "You have the best ideas, pet. Do you think you could wear one of those outfits for me. You could be my very own firefly."

Drusilla just grinned and Spike knew he was the luckiest man in the world.