He put on his Sunday best. Well, not exactly, seeing as how he never went to church. But still—dressy. Dignified. Though he didn’t have a mirror, he was sure he cleaned up nice.

He was going to church today. Oh yes. Give a bloke an invitation, and he was obligated to be there, wasn’t he? Even if it was a wedding—her wedding.

Sure, the getting pissed for nearly twelve hours straight hindered his movements, but Angel helped him make his way out of the door.

And even then, they were late.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

He watched as some bloke—tall, dark, and bland, lift the veil, and kiss her ever so softly. It was chaste. Boring. Clearly, this one wasn’t giving the slayer a good seeing to. Not that it mattered—he’d be the only one seeing to her for a good long while, wouldn’t he now? Being her husband now and everything. Or…

He suddenly found himself clapping. Loudly and slowly before the music could begin. Everyone turned in their seats, looking towards the back at him. And finally, the couple themselves, looking confused. The bride, upon seeing who was making such a ruckus, went from confused to outright shocked.

“Spike,” Angel muttered tersely. But he was of course ignored.

“Well, well, well. Bra-bloody-vo, pet. Getting yourself hitched.” She looked startled upon hearing his voice. She looked at him, all doe eyed, dressed in white. Spike scoffed.

“Congratulations, Summers. Oh wait, you wearing the trousers and all, I guess that’d make you Summers, eh, mate?” he asked, pointing at the confused groom. “Hope you two make it, divorce rates being so high and all these days. Messy stuff, that.” He smiled condescendingly at Buffy’s scowl. He noticed her hands, gripping that bouquet of pink calla lilies ever so tightly, probably wishing it was his neck.

"But by then, you poor sod, if it ever came to that, Buffy there will have taken all of your important bits long before then anyway. Oh, not your cash—god no. She’ll hit you where it really hurts. Your heart. Your soul. Your self respect—your self esteem. Oh, and your stones. Trust me on this one—speaking from personal knowledge here.

Gotta admit though, takes a mighty strong spine to put up with that one, yeah. Good luck on that. Cheers.”

He took his flask from inside his coat pocket, knocking it back. He frowned once the swallow that was left in there was downed in seconds. But then he shrugged, seemingly in a good mood. It’s not like he couldn’t get more.

“Thanks for the invite, pet. Ta.” And with that, he turned around, leaving a murmuring wedding party behind him, and a tense Angel on his heels.

It felt good.

It felt damn good.