Author’s Note: Thanks as always to Kar and my reviewers. You guys are really making this a great time for me. This chapter is a fluffy bit of nothing before the Big Badness of the season starts making itself known. I’ve updated my outline for the last few installments and hopefully I’ll be able to get them written in a timely fashion.

In our fifteenth installment there is much fluff.


Chapter Fifteen: Hell’s Bells


“So… you ready for this?”

“I guess so. Yeah, now that the pounding has stopped. Can you help me with this thing?”

“Sure. Um, how did you get it this knotted up to begin with, Xander?”

“Possibly it has something to do with the five quarts of bachelor beer.”

“Yeah, anyone watching last night might have thought you were, you know, nervous.”

"Mostly I was nervous that the guys expected you to join in with the entertainment. Speaking of which, please don't mention that to Anya."

"No problem. I could tell by your total panic that it wasn't your idea. There you go. It's so strange... just remembering there was a time when I imagined I'd be the one taking your tie off on your wedding day."

"Do you need help with yours, or are you good?"

"I'm good."

"The whole semi-drag thing really works for you, Wills."

"Yeah? I like it. Kinda Marlene Dietrichy. You look good too, by the way. How do you feel?"

"Like I want to throw up. But, you know, in a good way? Oh man. You really think I can do this? Without turning into my dad or otherwise fucking up royally?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Hey, that's my line."

"Come on, you big dummy, let's get you married."


---------

Maybe it was all the champagne, but Buffy was having the best time.

Aside from taking care of a potential crasher demon-guy before the nuptials began, it had been your average lovely ceremony. Well, as average as it could be considering how many guests on the bride’s side had horns or hooves or both. The reception was turning into one hell of a party too.

Spike could dance, as it happened. Well, waltz anyway. Now with Devon spinning faster songs, he’d declared himself done for a while. They’d nibbled a few things from the buffet and had a few glasses of champagne. Now he seemed happy enough watching her boogie down with Xander and Willow. Xander was practically neon he was glowing so brightly. He kept asking, “Can you believe she went through with it?” After a couple of songs, Xander wandered off to share his exuberance with some of the other guests. Which left her and Willow shimmying together on the dance floor.

“Yikes!” Willow hissed, looking over Buffy’s shoulder.

“What?” Buffy shouted over the music.

“Um, your boyfriend? I kinda think his face needs a parental advisory warning right now,” Willow explained.

Buffy spun them around and… yeah. Spike’s expression was so suggestive that her skin immediately went pink. “I’m so gonna kick his ass,” she muttered.

Willow giggled. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure that’s the response he’s looking for.”

She put on her most firm air. “He is so not allowed to picture my friends all… naked and writhing.”

Willow blinked a few times. “Writhing… so there’s…. writhing with Spike?”

He was doing the tongue thing, so yeah, writhage. But when she opened her mouth, something else came out. “Did you just call him my boyfriend?”

“Well, I… I mean, is he not your boyfriend?”

Buffy frowned. “No. I mean, he is, it’s just boyfriend sounds so… Hi, I’m Buffy and this is my boyfriend, Spike. It sounds so… like I’m some trust fund baby trying to piss off the parentals.” She batted her eyes for effect. “But Mom, he’s so dreamy and deeply misunderstood. He’s in a band and rides a motorcycle.”

“He does drive a motorcycle.”

The song ended before Willow could grill her further, and they parted to get refreshments. Buffy watched her friend chatting happily with Tara and smiled to herself. Maybe things would work out for Willow after all. She snagged a couple of fresh glasses of champagne and wandered toward her boyfriend. He looked so normal in the black slacks and oxford shirt. Nobody would know he was a vampire, she mused, until he sank his teeth in. She banished that thought because Spike didn’t do that anymore.

He was slouched comfortably in the chair, tie undone and collar open. Spike owned a tie? But then Spike had probably worn all sorts of things before finding and sticking to the Billy Idol look. His arm looped around her waist and his face turned up to hers in a way that immediately took her mind off his past feeding habits.

“Sorry pet, did I put the witch off with my earthy masculinity?”

She kicked at his ankle. “Willow’s not much for masculinity, earthy or otherwise. But you keep looking at my friends like that, and your masculinity is off my menu.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But the other guests are fair game?”

Before she could get in a decent retort, Dawn bustled over. “You have to dance with me, Spike, you promised!”

“Not to bloody ABBA, I don’t,” he protested firmly. “Next one, Niblet.”

“Okay,” Dawn huffed. She swiped a champagne glass off a passing waiter’s tray.

Buffy smirked at her, but it was Spike who spoke up. “Bit young, aren’t you?”

“Whatever, Spike. Buffy doesn’t care, so why should you?”

“Good point.” He smiled indulgently at her.

“Just don’t let Mom smell it on you,” Buffy advised, “and stop before you puke.” Dawn was old enough to indulge a smidge. It wasn’t like she was going to drive home.

Dawn grinned. “In that case, I’m having another glass.” She took off after the waiter.

Spike pulled Buffy in close. “Let’s escape before she comes back for that dance, pet. Has to be a coat closet or some such around here.”

Buffy sat up and put on the most prim demeanor she could manage while sitting on her vampire’s knee. “No, Spike. It is important to keep your promises.” She tilted her head at him. “After all, you want me to keep my promises, don’t you?” She leaned in and whispered something champagne-inspired in his ear.

So when the opening notes of “More Than A Woman” began to stream from the speakers, he obediently led Dawn out onto the floor. Buffy sat back and sipped at her glass while the two of them twirled around. Spike was pretending to hate every second of it, but it was clear that both of them were having a great time. Everyone was having a great time. Buffy relaxed into her seat and generally enjoyed life being pleasant for once.

Anya waved her over. “I’m so happy! Do I look happy?” she demanded. Her eyes looked feverish. “I am going to throw my bouquet to the less fortunate women in the crowd. Do you wish to participate?”

“I’ll sit this one out,” she answered wryly. “But yeah, you look happy. Kind of insane with the happy, but happy.”

She was watching the other single gals line up when she felt his arms come around her from behind. “Got a surprise for you, pet,” he rumbled into her neck.

“Really hate surprises, Spike.” In Buffyworld surprises tended to involve blades or rituals or kidnapping. They were really not her favorite.

“You’ll like this one,” he countered.

One of Xander’s aunts caught the flowers. There was a lot of hooting and yelling and then happy couple was gone and the party began to disperse. Dawn assured her she’d be riding home with Willow, and then Spike was guiding her toward the elevators.

“Got us a room here for the night, Slayer. Thought it might be a nice change, being abed above ground.”

This was a surprise she could handle. There was a familiar duffel bag by the desk inside and a silver bucket of champagne – like she needed more. Remember to hydrate she told herself. She gave Spike a faux-glare. “So Dawn packs me a bag, and you had to dance with her?”

“Danced with her out of the kindness of my heart,” he whispered against her neck, already working loose the fastenings on her dress. The kindness of his heart. His cold, black, dead – why was she dwelling? They had been having such a great night. “Just keeping my promise,” he pointed out between nips at her now bare shoulders. “And I seem to recall, Miss Summers, that you made a few promises yourself.”

She was going to smart off something in that same tone, but she realized she didn’t know what the heck to call him. Mr. The Bloody? They’d been sleeping together for months and she didn’t even know his last name.

She’d never known Angel’s name at all.

Spike’s sharp intake of breath brought her swiftly back into the moment. Ah. So good call on the undergarments. She stepped out of the dress and stalked toward the bed. She untied the side of the thong and lay there in just the white stockings and garter belt, hoping she looked sexy and confident instead of nervous as hell.

Apparently Spike was fooled, or at least willing to play along. He slipped his tie into the bedside table and she licked her lips at the thought of all the ways he might be planning on using it later. He began unbuttoning the shirt but when he started to shrug it off, she stopped him. “Leave it on,” she husked. “Looks good on you.”

“That so, Slayer?”

She hoped she wasn’t turning all pink again. “You know, with the accent, it’s kind of… James Bond.”

Buffy had expected him to laugh, but instead he looked inordinately pleased with himself. “Ah, Miss Moneypenny,” he purred into her ear, “I am finally going to demonstrate some of my special training for you.”

A thought floated up as he began his demonstration, a thought that she pushed aside as hastily as the ones about his previous dietary habits. A thought she promised herself she’d investigate further, if she wasn’t fortunate enough to forget it by the time she was done double-ohing.

But the thought probably wasn’t going away. And that thought was: I think I kinda love this guy.

------------

Next time: No, I haven’t forgotten about that prophecy.