CHAPTER 25 -- Showers

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who's sticking with (and reviewing) this story, I'm really having a great time writing it! And again, thanks for all of you voting for "Comedown" on Spuffy Archives! Happy reading!

“That’s FIVE!” a woman yelled at Anya from her place at one of the white linen covered tables. The room burst out into laughter.

Buffy, Willow, and Tara stood next to Anya, who sat amongst strewn wrapping paper and empty toaster boxes. When she was done tearing into one wedding present, Willow would hand the grabby bride-to-be another. Dawn came running over to the group. “Why do they keep counting like that?” She asked, annoyed she wasn’t in on the joke.

“It’s an old superstition for wedding showers. All the ribbons the bride breaks is supposed to be the number of kids she’s going to have,” Tara answered.

“Six!” A group of family members called out. Anya seemed unfazed by her growing number of offspring.

“Sweetheart, take it for someone with three children -- easy on the ribbon!” a woman called.

Anya smiled brightly, “That’s alright. That means more orgasms for me and more expensive presents from all of you in honor of the birth of each of my children . . . and their subsequent birthdays ever year after.”

While the crowd was charmed by the young woman, Buffy and the rest of the bridesmaids rolled their eyes. Anya’s hand shot out and Buffy took yet another shiny ribbon from her, dutifully weaving it into a Styrofoam plate.

“Now what are you doing?” Dawn asked.

“Taking the bows from the gifts and making a bouquet out of them. She’ll carry it during the wedding rehearsal.”

Dawn slouched, “Jeez I’ll never remember all this stuff. When you and Spike get married, I’m going to be the worst maid of honor ever.”

Buffy smiled at her sister, “That’s okay, mom and Willow will help . . . . Wait, who’s getting married!?” Willow and Tara exchanged smiles and barely contained laughs.

“You and Spike,” Dawn answered slyly.

Buffy looked to the sky, “Oh for the love of God! Dawn have you been talking to Spike!?” Buffy had her hands on her hips, head cocked to the side.

“No,” Dawn answered. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Jeez Buffy, if you two don’t get married all your unresolved sexual tension will have been pointless.”

“Where did you learn about unresolved sexual tension? You shouldn’t know anything about that,” Buffy scolded.

“Why Buffy, what has Spike been saying?” Willow asked smiling, taking joy in her friend’s discomfort. Apparently she wasn’t feeling guilty about Buffy’s romantic situation anymore.

“Nothing,” Buffy replied quickly. “Not a thing, haven’t seen him.”

“I still can’t believe he quit his nice cushy job for you,” Willow marveled.

“Agh, don’t remind me. I feel bad enough as it is.” Buffy looked at the couple next to her. He eyes widened in shock, “Oh God, Tara you lost your job and it’s all my fault! I am so sorry!”

Tara didn’t look too concerned, “Oh, don’t worry about me. Spike’s got something lined up,” she smiled secretively.

Buffy sighed, exasperated, “What is it about Spike that brings out nothing but optimism and confidence in you people?”

“What did he say?” Willow pushed.

Buffy exhaled in defeat, “He wants to start over.”

Willow’s eyes lit up, “Oh, that’s so romantic!”

“Excuse me!” Anya interrupted their conversation. “But as bridesmaids you are required to fawn over me! I’m not feeling very fawned! You can talk about Spike and Buffy having sex AFTER my wedding!”

Buffy face proceeded to change to a lovely shade of red. Tara gave the group a crooked smile, “Well, this wedding shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Have you seen the bridesmaid dresses?” Buffy panned.

Willow turned on her, “And who was the one who let her pick them out!?”

Buffy grimaced, “She was a tyrannt! You’re lucky you’re wearing the ones that you are! You should have seen the tapioca nightmare I talked her out of!” They all turned back to the demanding bride.

“Ohhhhh, a red lace teddy!” Anya screamed, handing Buffy another broken ribbon.

_______________________________________

While the girls continued to ooh and aah over candles and bedspreads, Xander and Spike were at the Bronze, keeping it simple with beer and pool.

Xander knocked the six into the corner pocket, but missed his next shot. Clem leaned against the wall, watching as Spike perused around the table for a shot.

“So, Spike, when are you gonna get hitched?” he asked.

Spike opened his mouth to speak, but Xander interrupted.

“No, no, no,” Xander slapped a hand on Spike’s back, “Man are you barking up the wrong tree! Spike here is the proverbial bachelor,” he announced proudly. “He’ll never settle down in one place.”

Spike quirked an eyebrow at is friend, “That’s not true.”

“Oh, no,” Xander continued without taking heed to the blonde’s words, “Spike is my idol. He wanders the world alone, open to any good time that comes his way, may it be blonde, brunette, or redhead.” Xander threw back his beer, gulping heartily.

Spike pivoted on his heels, leaning on his pool stick, to face his friend, “I quit my job and plan on marrying Buffy,” he deadpanned truthfully.

Xander sputtered his drink out of his mouth. Spike hit him on the back a few times to dull the violent coughs. “What!?” he shrieked. “You quit your job? Marrying Buffy? Since when do you like Buffy? Well, yeah, I knew you had become friends but . . . What!? When did this happen?”

Spike thought about it for a moment, “I’m not sure.”

“So . . . No more models?” Xander looked utterly let down.

Spike shrugged, “Sorry I didn’t live up to your expectations, mate.”

“Marry Buffy,” Xander said dismayed. He had seen Buffy earlier in the day. She hadn’t said a word. “Wait,” Xander shook his head, “Does Buffy know that you two are getting married?”

Spike couldn’t help but smile, “She will.”

______________________________________

“I thought only the groom was supposed to show up.” Buffy stood akimbo in front of the only non-groom man in the room.

Spike sent a glance towards the brunette, “Xander didn’t feel comfortable in a room full of wedding-obsessed women. He said I could work a room of females better than he could.”

“That I believe,” Buffy replied, picking crumpled tissue paper off the floor.

Spike glanced around the wedding shower, everyone too wrapped up in the bride and groom to notice him or Buffy. He placed his hands on her hips, bringing her back towards him. “Wanna get outta here, luv?” he whispered in her ear.

She spun around, “I’m the maid of honor! I’m not supposed to leave.”

“Yeah, and as the best man I’m asking if you want to get out of here,” he replied.

Buffy dropped her jaw at his pure ignorance of nuptial responsibility. It lasted about two seconds before she sagged in relief. “God, yes, let’s go.” She grabbed his hand, leading him out thorough the kitchen door, “Quick before Bridezilla sees us.”

TBC
 

CHAPTER 26 -- Pieces of Me

Author’s Note: Thanks for all the reviews and votes on Spuffy Archives! This chapter took me a little longer than planned, let me know if you like it! Next chapter should be out Friday or Saturday.

Buffy slid across the front leather seat of the Desoto, inching closer towards Spike. They wove smoothly through the streets of Sunnydale and Buffy let her head fall back against the headrest, relieved to be out of the clutches of Anya. At least for now.

Spike glanced over at the tired angel next to him, “Hungry luv?”

Buffy shook her head in the affirmative, her drooping eyes fluttering a little. She was wearing herself out working as both Anya’s wedding planner and maid of honor. This did not go unnoticed by Spike. The circles under her eyes were getting darker, and her body a little more angular by not eating right.

“How’s Joe’s sound?” he asked, noticing the sign for the diner up ahead.

“Very good,” she answered with a smile, dreaming of juicy hamburgers and milkshakes.

He pulled into the parking lot of Joe’s Diner, a local joint designed with fifties motifs in mind. At night you could see the neon outline of Marilyn Monroe in her pose from “The Seven Year Itch”.

Spike held the restaurant door open for Buffy, guiding her in with a hand on her lower back. The color scheme was a shiny red -- the cushy booths, the bar stools sparkled and the walls were covered in retro Coca-Cola Norman Rockwell-esque ads.

They sat themselves in a booth on the right, under a framed poster of James Dean from the “torn sweater” series.

An older woman with snowy-white hair pulled up in a tight bun and a nametag reading “Wilma” approached the table, handing them each a menu and taking a notepad out of the pocket of her apron.

“Our lunch specials are the BLT and ham and cheese sandwich, both come with fries or onion rings. Can I start you kids off with something to drink?”

The couple ordered, made quick by their stomach rumblings, and sat back to wait for their food.

Spike reclined back in his seat, “So how’d the shower go?”

Buffy shrugged, “Smoother than I thought. Anya only rejected one gift, asking what she would possibly do with a bread maker. Granted this was after she learned it didn’t make bread as in money, but the kind you eat. She demanded they go back and get her something she planned to get some use out of -- lingerie.”

Spike laughed at the story, not incredibly surprised that such a thing had occurred.

“Bachelor and bachelorette parties in a couple weeks.” Buffy reminded him.

“Don’t worry, Summers. I didn’t forget -- we got the whole thing planned already.”

Buffy sat up, “Let me guess . . . A night consisting solely of strippers and beer?”

Spike smirked, “No, we thought we’d mix it up a little . . . Strippers, whiskey, and beer.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in false shock, “Oh, my mistake.”

He smiled, “You’re excused.”

_____________________________________________

After their meal, they slid back into the car. Instead of making a right out of the parking lot, back towards the wedding shower, Spike made a left, following the sign that pointed towards the highway.

Buffy quirked an eyebrow, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Buffy sat up, “Spike, I’m the maid of honor.”

“It’s not your wedding. They have Tara and Willow to help finish up.” He wound his fingers into hers, “Come on, let me have you for the rest of the day.”

“But I have to get back to . . .” she began halfheartedly.

“To what?” he challenged. “What do you have to do today that can’t wait until tomorrow? Pretend you don’t have a job. You don’t have any responsibilities.”

“Like you?” she smiled.

Spike returned her grin, “Yeah, like me.”

Buffy yawned in response.

He cupped her cheek and ran a hand over her hair, “You can sleep, luv. I’ll wake you up when we get there.” Buffy yawned again and didn’t fight him. Spike reached into his backseat, bringing up a blanket and arranging it over her.

__________________________________________

“We’re here, luv.” Buffy was awoken a couple hours later by his gentle tone and hands rubbing up and down her back. She smiled and stretched against the seat, feeling so much better from her nap.

He opened her door, taking her hand and helping her out of the car. She looked over the hood of the car at the scene around her. She was presented with a gorgeous view of the sun setting over the ocean. “Where are we?”

“Secret place. Not many people know about it, just the early morning surfers.”

They walked down the beach a little ways then sat down to watch the glorious colors across the sky. Buffy sat between his legs leaning her back against his chest. A breeze greeted the couple, giving Spike an intoxicating aroma of the salty ocean and vanilla perfume. Spike brought his hands up to rub her shoulders and lower back and she relaxed further against him.

“Buffy, I did bring you out here for a reason . . .”

She tensed immediately at his words and Spike wound his arms around her tighter, not allowing to runaway.

“I told Xander today about my feelings toward you. Willow knows to, so does Tara. Point is . . . I don’t want to keep this thing between us from anyone. Buffy, I’m in love with you. I want you to be mine,” he whispered. He turned her so she was straddling his lap, her hands on his shoulders, love and uncertainty shining in his eyes. Shining for her. “Will you?”

She kissed him in response. It began with a simple press of her lips against his, her hands holding his face in place and his arms wound around her back. It escaladed quickly with a swipe of his tongue across her cherry coated lips. She opened her mouth to him and allowed her tongue to battle with his. She let herself go, allowing all her weight to rest on him. Her actions drove him further, slipping his hands under her top to skim her stomach and back. She moaned and wound her fingers in his hair. In her movements she ground herself down onto his hardness and heard him growl low in his throat. She smiled against his lips and repeated the action.

They continued their assault on each other’s mouths. Buffy felt his fingertips graze the outline of her breasts, causing her to realize her own emotions going out of control. She pulled back, “We . . . We have to stop . . .” she blushed, “I don’t want to . . .”

“I’m not asking you to,” he interrupted, worship and awe on his face. Buffy shifted away from him, uncomfortable in the intense silence.

Spike brushed golden locks off her face, causing her to look at him, “I’m just asking you to refrain from dating anymore of my friends,” he smirked. He furrowed his brows, “Or anyone else for that matter,” he finished, smiling again. “Can you do that for me, luv?”

Buffy smiled, nodding her head agreeably.

He dropped a light kiss on her swollen lips, “Come on,” he stood up in the sand, helping her to join him. Not letting go of her hand, they walked along the shore, stopping every once in a while to kick waves at each other and kiss. Looking up ahead, they saw a party in full evening swing. White Christmas lights shone through a white gauze tent. Jazz music flowed from the party, drifting down the beach.

Buffy slowed, ready to turn back. They had reached the end of the beach and she had no intention of interrupting anyone’s gathering.

Spike tugged on her arm, “We can’t just crash someone’s party!” she said.

“Watch me,” he replied, urging her further down the shore. But he didn’t take her into the tent like she thought, but led her up a steep set of wooden stairs leading to a deck built high over the ocean.

Once atop their destination, Buffy let go of his hand and walked over to the edge. From their place high above the tent, she could see through the flimsy cover at all the couples slowly swaying to the music below them. Paper lanterns glowed down on the romantic gathering, glints of lights dancing off couples old and young, eyes closed in bliss.

She felt him come up behind her and wrap his arms around her, beginning their own movement to the flowing beat. She brought her hands up around his neck. He placed a slow kiss on her neck and she closed her eyes as they continued to dance. He gently tugged on her waist, turning her around in his arms, never stopping their own personal waltz under the stars.

Hours later as the Desoto began it’s trek back home, the only thing lighting the road was the bright headlights of passing cars. Throwing the blanket over Buffy’s shoulders, she curled up against him. He kissed her silky strands and drew his right arm around her and she burrowed deeper into him, inhaling his scent of tobacco and musk, and closing her eyes.

TBC
 

CHAPTER 27 -- Bachelorettes

Author’s Note: Thanks for the reviews and thank you to everyone who voted for me on Spuffy Archives -- two fictions of the week in a row!!! Happy reading!

Five dildos, two finger vibrators, several bustiers with matching hose, and a box of banana, strawberry, and chocolate flavored condoms littered Buffy’s living room floor.

Buffy almost dropped the tray of margaritas in her hands as another wave of cries radiated through the house.

“Oh my God! Is that a Screamer 2004!? That is the best vibrator ever!” Somene yelled.

So went Anya’s bachelorette party.

As the maid of honor, the whole event was Buffy’s to plan. But Anya, being Anya, had her own ideas of how her last hurrah should go. With all of Anya’s input, all Buffy was left to do was make the arrangements which consisted of a few phone calls and one embarrassing trip to the local porn shop.

Whereas Buffy was fully prepared for a night of loud music and cheesy male strippers, she was blindsided by Anya’s request for a “romance enhancement” party, her reasoning being that they were all so sexually repressed that they should revel in the chance to broaden their sexual horizons. She also took into account the gay couple at the party -- she refused to waste money on dancers two of her bridesmaids would not be capable of enjoying.

So at two o’clock that afternoon, Buffy opened her home to the female half of the wedding party, assorted X-chromosomed individuals, and a woman named Linda and her assorted sex toys and edible lotion samples.

At first it had been a uphill battle to get Dawn out of the house. But with the first knock on their door being Anya with her own sex toy collection, Dawn was quick with a reason to get out of the house. Her first idea had been hanging out at Spike’s new place for the day, but when she found out her favorite new friend’s own evening would be consisting of scantily clad lap dancers, the youngest Summers had suddenly remembered the history project she had to finish with Janice.

Buffy took a deep breath and rejoined the party in her living room. Everyone seemed to be having a good enough time. Even Willow gamely passed around the paraphernalia, offering up a few recommendations out of her own experiences. When she wasn’t participating in the group discussion, she was whispering in Tara’s ear. The redhead’s girlfriend would lean over, pointing to something in the catalogue and sharing a flirty smile.

Buffy tried her best not to feel out of place at the sex toy party. She knew, looking around the room at the women, most of which she’d never met before, that she was the most inexperienced of the bunch. She didn’t know how exactly, but somewhere in middle school she’d missed the day where everyone got Dating 101. All of a sudden, everyone had significant others except her. And it only escaladed in high school and college. Boys continued to ask out all the girls -- all the girls except her. And she would have been more bold, perhaps, if the opportunity had presented itself. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t an idiot -- she had things going on upstairs. But she’d never been so much as close acquaintances with any boys, with the exception of Xander. Well, him and Spike. But Spike hadn’t counted . . . Until now that is. He was most certainly beginning to count now.

Late that evening, after a call from Dawn asking to sleep over Janice’s, Buffy wandered around her living room picking up the remnants of the party. Grabbing the last of the dirty plates and wrapping paper, Buffy turned to go to the kitchen. A knock on the front door halted her movements. Confusion over who would be visiting this late, Buffy cautiously opened the front door, only to relax and swing the door open the rest of the way.

“Hey, luv. Long day?” Spike walked into the foyer.

“Glad it’s over,” she replied.

Spike smiled and relieved Buffy of her load and took it to the trash can himself. He came back into the living room, shedding his coat and throwing it over the chair.

Her internal monologue calmed at his presence, Buffy allowed herself to be enveloped in his arms, leaning all her weight on him. She crinkled her nose, “Your shirt smells like smoke and strippers,” she pushed away against his chest.

“Would you rather I take it off?”

She eyed him shyly, “Maybe,” she replied.

His glance darted to the stairs, “Where’s the family?”

“Out of town and at Janice’s,” she answered.

He smirked and prowled closer to her.

She backed up until the backs of her legs hit the couch, then crawled onto it and kneeled, waiting for him.

He didn’t leave her for long, striding over to stop in front of her, capturing her lips with his. She drew him down to sit on the couch next to her. Unfolding her legs out from under her, Buffy shifted to straddle his legs and Spike’s hands reached around her, slipping his hands into the back pockets of her jeans, urging her closer. She moaned and he snaked a hands up under the back of her shirt. Finding no bra to hinder him, his fingers dove boldly to her front, cupping her naked breasts and squeezing sensuously. The cry of surprise from Buffy was muffled by his tongue in her mouth and it quickly turned into a moan as she broke away from him, arching back and thrusting herself further into his hands.

Spike reestablished the connection of their lips. Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck, but he pulled back with a queer look on his face, stopping the lovely massage of her breasts.

“What?” she asked breathlessly, having been thoroughly enjoying where his actions were leading.

He leaned against the back of the couch, lifting his hips up off of it, reaching under him and extracting something that was poking him in the back. To his incredible surprise, he brought out a leather cat-o-nine tails whip.

Buffy clamped a hand over her mouth, doing nothing to silence her laughs, “Anya’s bachelorette party,” she answered his unspoken question.

His sagging jaw clamped shut, recovering from his shock, “And here I thought it was yours. Way to get a bloke all excited.” She giggled and he swatted her on the ass with his new toy.

“Please tell me you don’t know how to use that.”

“Course I do.” He leered at her, “You’ll learn all the things I know.”

“And with that I say goodnight.” She moved to get off him.

But he gave her no chance to get away, grabbing her hips, “I’m kidding,” he amended. “Well, not really. I’ll say anything to just keep you in this position.” She smiled amusedly, placed a lingering kiss on his lips, but got up anyway.

He watched her move about the room, folding a blanket and opening a wooden chest. He arched an eyebrow, “What do you have in there? Foreplay dice?”

“You wish,” she shot back, placing the throw in the box and closing the top.

He sighed and grabbed the remote off the coffee table, reaching to turn on the television.

“Wait!” Buffy yelled, diving for the remote in his hand. Yanking it off of him, she bolted to the VCR, ejecting the tape that would have cued up to play had he pressed power.

“Buffy . . .” he drawled out. “What do you have there?”

“Nothing,” she squeaked, clutching the videotape to her chest.

Spike launched off the couch, causing Buffy to yelp and run for the hallway, the movie held tight in her hands.

He trapped her easily against a far wall and wrestle her secret out of her little hands. He held the tape up in the air, high out of her reach, squinting to read the title.

“Deep Throat?” A scarred brow shooting up, “You a fan of the classics, luv?”

“It was Anya’s idea and for her bachelorette party,” she scowled in embarrassment.

He brushed golden curls off her face, “Well I’m glad Anya left us some things to play with,” he smirked.

“Stay here with me tonight,” she requested softly. “I don’t mean . . .” her cheeks flushed, “Just sleep here.”

Spike smiled, “Sure, luv.”

He took her hand and led her back over to the couch. He stretched out on it and she crawled over him, laying on top of him and resting her head on his chest. He turned on the TV, stopping on a late night comedy show, and reached behind him and clicked off the lamp, the flicker of the show the only thing illuminating the two.

TBC
 

CHAPTER 28 -- Plans For The Future

Buffy woke up to the distinct smell of pancakes wafting from the kitchen. She looked around at the snug cocoon she was wrapped in. She was on her side facing Spike, his right leg nestled between her own. Before she had woken up, her head had been neatly tucked under his chin. Both his arms were wrapped tightly around her, her hands rested on his chest, one still clutching his t-shirt. Somewhere during the night he had pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over them. She wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep, but all she knew was that she hadn’t slept that easily and soundly in a long time. Speedy Gonzales beeped across the television screen behind her. She turned her attention back to the man next to her and admired his face and boyish features while he slept. She kissed his scared brow and ran her thumb over his cheekbone before gently extracting herself from his arms.

Buffy padded into the kitchen to find her mother huddled over a bowl of pancake batter.

“It’s about time you got up. Is Spike still asleep?” Buffy nodded in the affirmative, taking a seat at the counter and pouring herself some orange juice. Joyce busied herself around the kitchen, shooting the occasional glances at her daughter until she realized that looking nosey would be inevitable, “So,” she started, “When did this happen?” She nodded her head in the direction of the boy asleep in her living room, a bright smile tugging at her lips.

Buffy rolled her eyes, “No gloating.”

Joyce’s smile widened, “I’m not gloating. Can’t a mother just be happy when she comes home early from a business trip to find two of her favorite children asleep in each other’s arms on her couch?”

Buffy sighed at her mother’s simplistic romanticism, “We ‘found’ each other years ago. We just recently stopped hating each other.”

Buffy went back into the living room. Sitting down gently on the couch next to Spike, careful not to wake him. She ran light fingering caresses over his features. When he inhaled deeply at her touch, she raked her fingers through his mussed hair. He nuzzled into the caress.

“Hey sleepyhead,” she greeted quietly as his eyes blinked open.

Spike smiled, pleased with they way he was awoken, and arched off the couch in a feline stretch, “What time is it?”

“Quarter past twelve,” she answered, playing with the skin of his abdomen that had been exposed during his movements. In reply, Spike snuggled deeper into the couch, pulling Buffy to lie down with him. She giggled as he re-intertwined his arms and legs around hers. They lay with each other, running lazy hands up and down the other’s body.

“Well, mom’s making animal shaped pancakes if you’re interested,” Buffy said, glancing up at her boyfriend, fingers walking up under his t-shirt.

Spike grabbed her wandering digits, kissing the tips and smiling, “Always.”

Buffy sat up, pulling Spike up and onto his feet. Not letting go of his hand she led him eagerly into the kitchen and to the table.

“So, what are you two up to today?” Joyce asked, flipping a stack of pancakes onto each plate and passing them to the couple.

Buffy looked at Spike questioningly and he shrugged. “I don’t know,” Buffy answered for them. “Hanging out, maybe a skate in the park.”

Spike put his fork down, tilting his head at Buffy thoughtfully, “I want to show you something later.”

“Okay,” Buffy agreed easily. “What is it?”

“A surprise,” he answered, turning back to his food, giving her no more clues.

___________________________________________

Spike pulled over to the side of the road and he and Buffy walked off the street up to a boarded up shop, a construction sign on it’s window. Spike reached into his pocket, surprising Buffy by producing keys and unlocking the door.

“Are you sure we’re allowed in here?” she glanced around at passing strangers.

“I promise I’m not tattering your record, Summers,” he replied, pushing open the door.

Buffy entered to find a vast room filled with boxes and various tools. A thick coat of sawdust covered everything -- evidence of a wall having jut been knocked down. Branching off the bigger room was several other rooms about the size of Buffy’s bedroom.

“What do you think, luv?” Spike asked expectantly, studying her reaction.

Buffy searched her dusty surroundings, “I think the owner need to find another maid.”

“I take offense to that,” Spike smirked.

Buffy turned to him, “Why?”

“I bought it.”

“You what?”

“It’s mine,” he replied. “I’m opening my own studio.”

Buffy’s eyes brightened at his enthusiasm, “What do you know about owning a business?”

Spike sighed, “Not much. But Tara knows a lot. She’s the co-owner.” He continued on in front of her, “This will be the main desk over here,” he pointed towards the far right corner. “We’ll knock out these front walls and put in glass windows that can display our work.” He ran over to the line of doors, “I’m thinking in each of these rooms here, we can build a different set. That way everything can be really detailed and pre-set at the beginning of the day so me and Tara can keep up with the appointments better.”

Buffy continued to stare at her surroundings in awe.

“Think of it: I’m only ten minutes away from your store. Willow splits her time between there and school just down the road. She’ll be stopping in here to visit her girl.” He wrapped his arms around her waist as they continued to stroll around the territory. “I can visit you anytime I want. We can work out our hours so we can have lunch together everyday and close up at the same time. I can pick you up at the end of the day.” Buffy closed her eyes, letting his dreams and plans wash over her. “And we’re just down the street from the daycare and elementary school. If anything happens, either of us could easily go get the kids.”

Buffy was momentarily jolted at his mention of their children. But mulling over the future some more, she let herself fully envision her life in a few years. And for the first time it didn’t scare her. Pictures of a little boy with blonde curls and mischievous blue eyes danced through her head.

She turned around in Spike’s arms, kissing him soundly, “I think that sounds wonderful.”

TBC
 

CHAPTER 29 -- Rehearsal

“They will be here, Anya!” Buffy insisted for the fortieth time, arranging a tall bouquet of flowers that sat in the aisle of the church. The big day was tomorrow afternoon and Anya insisted on running off an unending list of last minutes items to Buffy, triple checking that they would all be in place come one o’clock the next day.

“What is up with you?” Willow asked, her and Tara walking up to the two blonde girls. They were all dressed in their wedding-rehearsal finest, each of their outfits having been OK’d by Anya.

Buffy ceased playing with the tulips, “What?” she asked, a smile playing at the corners of her glossed lips.

Willow let go her own grin, “This laissez faire attitude. You’ve been different these past couple weeks.”

“It’s all the orgasms Spike’s been giving her,” Anya answered haughtily.

Willow and Tara’s eyes widened, “What!? What orgasms? Spike’s giving you orgasms? Spill!” The redhead insisted.

“I . . . But . . .” Buffy took a few steps back, not sure when exactly the conversation had took this embarrassing turn.

“You know she HAS been acting weird the past couple weeks since the bachelorette party,” Tara teased.

“Oh, have you tried the Screamer 2004?” Anya inquired. “It always gives me the sort of orgasmic glow you’ve got going.”

Buffy continued to back up until she hit into something hard. Breathing in the familiar and comforting scent, she relaxed against it.

“These birds picking on you, luv?” Strong arms wound themselves around her.

“Yeah, and they’re nosey too,” Buffy pouted.

“Come on,” he tugged her away from the rest of the bridal party. “I haven’t seen you all day,” he said, nuzzling and kissing her neck.

Buffy sighed in contentment. The last few weeks had past in relaxed bliss. Even the strains of the wedding plans hadn’t put a damper on her spirit. Spike’s daily visits and the mini-vacations he stole her away for didn’t allow her to be stressed. She let her mind wander back to a couple days prior:

“Hey, you haven’t seen my new place yet!” They were in Spike’s car, coming back from lunch. “Lemme show it to you.”

Buffy’s stomach knotted in both nervousness and excitement at the prospect of being utterly and completely alone with him, with no chance of annoying sisters and nosey mothers interrupting. The number of make-out sessions that had been cut short were countless. But if Spike had been upset, he’d never shown his disappointment.

He pulled into the driveway of a posh condo situated on the top of a hill.

“Wow,” she gasped, looking around his spacious room upon entrance. It was a vast wood floor that covered the living room, dining room, and kitchen. An inviting leather couch sat in the middle of the room. A large glass wall loomed in front of her, allowing for a breathtaking view of Sunnydale below. A hallway branching off of the living room led to two bedrooms and a bathroom.

“Come on, you gotta see the place,” he took her hand, giving her a grand tour, at one point having to physically carry her out of the bathroom when she spied the bathtub big enough for five people. The last stop on the tour was his bedroom.

Dramatic in design, the main point of the room was the four poster bed, a deep mahogany that complimented the deep reds and blacks that colored the space.

“Spike, this place is gorgeous,” she sighed, running her fingers over the satin bedspread.

“Glad you like it. Figured we can use it as our little getaway. Come over Thursday and I’ll cook you dinner.”

Buffy turned to face him and nodded enthusiastically. Spike made his way towards her, but broke away abruptly.

“Oh, I almost forgot, I got you a housewarming gift,” he rushed off to the closet.

Buffy laughed, “Shouldn’t I be getting you something? You’re the one with the house.” She slid onto the bed behind her, her feet dangling off the edge.

He returned to the foot of the bed with a wide blue rectangular box in his hands. Buffy looked at him quizzically before taking the box from him and removing the lid. She gasped at what she saw. Inside were a pair of dangle chandelier earrings. They were the same pair she had specified as the set she most wished to wear at her dream wedding and had been leant to her for the Today’s Bride magazine shoot.

“When I was cleaning out my office I found those in wardrobe. I couldn’t imagine them finding anyone else they looked more beautiful on.”

“They’re lovely. Thank you,” She awarded him with a bright smile and an adoring kiss.

He gazed down at her, contemplating his words before speaking, “I love you, Buffy,” he spoke quietly. His face held his uncertainty, not sure whether he was going to be hugged or hit for his admission. But his features also showed the hopelessness of his situation. His heart burned for her whether he chose to admit it or not.

Her bight green orbs held his, “I love you, too,” she replied with a soft smile.

More elated with her answer than anything in the world, Spike quickly leaned down and captured her lips with his. Crawling onto his bed with her, they sprawled out next to each other. His hand rested on her hip.

“Do you really love me?” he asked in awe.

“Want me to show you how much?”

Spike nodded, “Yeah,” his voice lowering.

He almost choked when Buffy got up on her knees before him, crossing her arms at the hem of her shirt, bringing it over her head and throwing it into a far corner. She slid back down next to him. When he didn’t make a move towards her, uncertainty flashed across her eyes. She had applauded herself for her smooth undressing, but hadn’t a clue on where to go from there.

Spike broke out from his mist of desire. “Say stop and we stop,” he managed to say. His hand slipped to the waistband of her jeans, diving in and sliding around just enough to feel the silky material of her panties. His fingers turned back to the button of her pants. When he leaned in and kissed her, she crossed her hands behind his head and rolled onto her back, pulling him on top of her. Encouraged, he pushed down the zipper of her jeans and she help wiggled out of them.

Clad in nothing but her purple lace underwear, she tugged at his t-shirt until he got the hint and whipped it off. Spike slowed his decent of her body. If he went too fast, he was liable to loose the ounce of control he was so desperately holding on to and scare her. What they were about to do was new to her. And God help him he was going to make this last.

Keeping his eyes on her, he lowered his lips to her breast, wetly licking her nipple thorough the material of her bra. When she arched into him he attached his mouth and sucked strongly. Her head fell back under a cascade of blonde and one of her hands played with the hair on the nape of his neck, the other caressed up and down his bare back, scratching him with her nails.

He slid down the sheets to her stomach, not spending much time there as he continued down her body. Hooking his fingers in the waistband of her underwear, he slowly drew them off her. She moved to bring her legs closed, but he stopped her, looking into her eyes and massaging her thighs until she relaxed under his touch and opened herself to him.

With one long stroke, he applied his tongue to her sex. Keeping his licks on the surface, he alternated fast and slow, hitting her clit with each upward motion. Her head thrashed from side to side, and he backed off, settling her down. Her eyes crossed when he stabbed his tongue past her opening and deep into her core. Her hands twisted into the bed sheets above her head.

She moaned and pleaded for release and he didn’t stop his tongue’s onslaught until her body arched elegantly off the bed. When she slid bonelessly back down, panting, he continued to lap her clean.

He slid back up her body, leaving wet kisses as he went. “Good?” he asked, the grin on his face already knowing the answer.

“The best,” she sighed in contentment. But her glow quickly faded as his own uncomfortable situation became blaringly obvious, the tightness in his jeans rubbing against her thigh. She stumbled over her next words. “Spike, I want to . . .” she broke off, blushing. Unable to verbalize what she wanted, she looked into his eyes and reached down between them, unzipping his pants and reaching inside, wrapping her fingers around his erection and squeezing gently.

At her first touch, he slammed his eyes closed, “God, Buffy,” he breathed. Regardless of the number of times he had run this particular fantasy through his head, nothing, absolutely and posi-fucking-tively nothing beat the real thing -- being with her, here. When he refocused on her face, she moved her hand, swiping her thumb across the tip, scooping up his pre-cum. She lifted her finger to her lips, placing it in her mouth, she sucked on it.

“Where the fuck did you learn that?” he exhaled, his eyes never leaving the finger disappearing past her lips.

She giggled in response, “Being friends with Anya, you pick up a little thing or two.”

He looked at her hungrily, “Remind me to thank Anya,” he noted as she rolled him onto his back, admiring the way his tight muscles arched and stretched. She moved to crawl down his body but he caught her, sliding a hand into her hair and bringing her to his mouth and kissing her deeply.

When he let her go, she smiled at the awe written across his face. He watched as she moved down, her golden tresses tickling his hips. He fought the urge to buck. He tried to watch her devour him, God knows his did. But the first lick up the underside of his dick and he was almost undone. He threw his head back, throwing a forearm over his eyes, mentally reciting the roster of Manchester United . . . Anything to keep him from cumming. He had made it all the way to the full-back before he knew the end of this exquisite torture was inevitable.

Spike sank his fingers into the sheets, trying to ground himself and not thrust into her mouth. He satisfied himself with gently winding his hand in her hair.

“Buffy, I’m going to cum,” he rasped, impressed with his ability to form a coherent thought. How was he expected to think? She was swirling her tongue around the head of his penis, tracing a candy cane pattern, and pumping the length of it with her hand.

When he came, it was hard, and he let his hips lose contact with the bed as she took him deep, swallowing powerfully and rhythmically. He was fairly certain he had stopped breathing for a couple minutes.

She reappeared at the head of the bed, “Good?” she repeated his earlier question with much more uncertainty.

“The best,” he replied with the utmost confidence, kissing the lingering taste of their mixed fluids from her lips.

That afternoon they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s embrace.

Coming out of her daze, Buffy blushed a little at the memory coming to her in a church. Spike must have sensed her change because he sent a cocky grin her way, attacking her neck and collarbone with even more vigor.

“Hey! What did I say about sex in the church!? Unless it’s me, nobody is going to having orgasms in the house of God!” Anya hollered, stomping down the aisle towards the couple.

“At least someone’s getting some action,” Xander grumbled, unhappy with the no-sex-until-the-honeymoon-so-it-will-be-extra-special stipulation from his soon-to-be bride.

The bossy blonde turned on him, “Xander, get your best man away from my maid of honor before they take each other in one of the pews! I need him up front and in line pronto!”

Spike pulled back from Buffy, smiling and placing a chaste kiss on her lips before letting himself be yanked away by Xander and dragged down the aisle to take his place by the alter. Buffy herself was pulled away seconds later to join Willow, Tara, Dawn, and Anya in the back of the church, all in line and ready to practice their march down the aisle.

“Honestly,” Anya sighed, straightening her skirt and taking her place last in line, “Does no one have a sense of decency anymore?”

TBC
 

CHAPTER 30 -- Wedding Bells

Author’s Note: Thanks to baby spikes and Jess Marie for getting me in gear to get an update out!



“And I promise to give you many orgasms if you continue to make me those delicious waffles.”

Laughter echoed through the church as Anya finished her wedding vows to Xander. The entire monologue, heavily laced with mentions of orgasms and sex toys, had the priest a deep crimson and the guests rolling in the aisles.

Spike glanced across the aisle at Buffy as she laughed at Anya’s words. He had watched her walk down the church ahead of the bride and he couldn’t help but envision his girl in white. If Anya had known that Spike’s entire attention had been devoted to Buffy and not the bride, she would have slugged him.

The priest pronounced his two friends man and wife. As the organ began to play, the newlyweds linked arm in arm and led the procession down towards the entrance. Waiting for Anya’s train to clear the way, he held his arm out to Buffy, who wound her arm through his. They shared a squeeze and a smile and began their trek to the limo.

The party was in full swing two hours later. Xander pranced his bride around the dance floor, boogieing himself into embarrassment.

Spike smiled at his spazzing friend, leaning up against the bar sipping at his scotch. He watched Buffy on the other side of the room. On her hip was Anya’s two year old cousin, Jack. Buffy bounced him up and down, swinging him around and lifting him up in the air. Over the crowd he could hear the squealing giggles of the little boy.

Buffy stole gazes over to the bar. Spike was leaned back, both elbows on the bar, and talking to Willow. His jacket was unbuttoned, the first few buttons on his white shirt undone, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. He looked so relaxed and sexy. Ideas fluttered through her mind of walking over to him, taking both ends of the tie, and dragging him into the coatroom. Fairly certain he would have no objection to her actions, Buffy was forced to settle the butterflies in her lower stomach.

The DJ’s voice boomed over the crowd, announcing the time had come for the bouquet toss. Knowing this would lead to some guy, most likely a drunk stranger, having to expose her thigh to the entire room, Buffy purposely shied away to the side of the dance floor, to the left of the screaming single women crowding the floor, and began a conversation with Xander’s uncle. She hadn’t seen him since they were kids and before long they were reminiscing about scraped knees and tree houses.

“Buffy!”

Buffy heard her name being called and turned around to Anya’s voice, only to see a floral arrangement flying towards her head. Instinctively, she put up her hands, completing a neat catch to the cheers of the wedding guests. Buffy stood slightly stunned, Anya’s bouquet in her hands, until Anya and Willow ushered her to the middle of the floor.

“What!? No . . . no, you guys . . .” Buffy pushed against her friends, but her heels slid across the wooden dance floor with no avail.

“Let’s hear it for the lucky lady!” the DJ called out.

Buffy turned an incredible shade of red. They sat her on a chair to the side while Anya more than happily offered up her leg to Xander to take off her garter while tacky stripper music played in the background. Buffy fingers tightened onto the sides of the chair in a death-grip.

“Now lemme see all you eligible bachelors out on this floor!” the DJ yelled out to the room.

Buffy’s eyes were darting around nervously. Oh God, what kind of weird, perverted relation of Anya’s was going to have to climb under her dress? No matter how evenly she tried to breath, the heart palpitations just wouldn’t stop.

To the yells from the guests and the countdown from five, Xander slung the garter over his shoulder. Buffy closed her eyes and silently prayed.

After the noise climaxed and quieted, Buffy ventured one eye open, then the other. Cautiously awaiting, the crowd of men slowly parted. Buffy inhaled a breath and held it -- then immediately relaxed. Standing in front of her was Spike -- the garter dangling from his fingertip. He raised a playful eyebrow at her and she couldn’t help but smile, giggling nervously in relief.

But as he approached her, her muscles tensed again. Even though Spike had caught the garter, she still had to complete the uncomfortable tradition. In front of everyone.

Buffy knew the superstition was that the higher Spike put that garter up her leg, the happier and longer Anya and Xander’s marriage would be. And Anya would accept nothing but the happiest and longest. And that meant putting that garter on Buffy until it reached her white lace panties -- embarrassingly high. She spared a glance at the bride, who was hovering closely by, truly believing her marriage rode on Buffy and Spike’s next actions. Buffy truly did want Anya and Xander to have a long and happy marriage. But at what price to her sanity? Buffy slapped her hands over her eyes.

Spike approached her, tuning out the loud music and the rowdy drunks demanding to see some leg. Slowly lifting her hands from her face, he met her eyes, giving her a gentle smirk. “Just you and me, okay?” he asked quietly, asking her to ignore the crowd and focus on him.

Buffy took a deep breath and nodded in agreement.

Catcalls and whistles permeated the room. Buffy squeezed her eyes shut in mortification as Spike knelt in front of her. He lifted her leg, placing a chaste kiss on her ankle. Buffy opened her eyes to meet his as he slid the garter over her strappy sandal, his eyes darkening. Her breath hitched at the instant tightening of her stomach, the one she always got when around him. At this point she almost wished someone else had caught the garter. Yes, it would have been just as embarrassing, but at least Buffy wouldn’t have had the overwhelming heat in her stomach to go along with it. He wrapped his fingers around her shin, hooking his thumb and one of his fingers through the garter. As his hand slid up her leg, so did his body until his forehead rested against hers and his hand disappeared up her dress. Buffy once again closed her eyes, this time to get reign over her overheated body as his fingers came dangerously close to making her moan.

“That’s enough luck for the both of them, don’t you think?” he asked, eyes sparkling mischievously.

Buffy returned his smile, nodding in reply as the guests applauded their tradition-well-done. Lifting her up from the chair, as the first notes of a slow song began to play, he brought her flush against his body, slowly swaying them across the floor.

Three hours later, Buffy walked through the garden outside the reception hall, her bouquet hanging loosely in her hand, a bit melancholy. Sure, she had helped arrange hundreds of weddings in her relatively short career, but never for a friend. With Anya and Xander’s wedding, she had seen every detail and emotion up close. And that had only succeeded in intensifying her own feelings of reflection.

She instantly brightened when she turned the corner of the garden. Across the way, sitting on a boulder, was Spike. He stood up to greet her, holding two flutes of champaign.

“Did I tell you how absolutely smashing you look tonight, luv?” he spoke, wrapping his free arm around her.

Buffy smiled, taking a flute out of his hand, “Multiple times, but feel free to keep going.” During the reception all the bridesmaids had congregated in the bathroom. The pictures having been over, they could rip apart each other’s dresses in an attempt to create something wearable. With Tara’s fashion know-how, the shortened dresses came out looking pretty good.

Buffy took a sip of her drink, “Thanks for catching the garter, I’m glad it was you.”

Spike glanced down at his shoes, “Well, I have a confession to make, luv.”

Buffy’s brows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t catch that garter.” Buffy just looked more confused. “Harris’s nineteen year old cousin caught it. He took one look at you and seemed a little too eager. So I gave him twenty dollars and what was left of my scotch and told him to shove off.”

“Awww, honey, you bribed and gave alcohol to a minor, both illegal activities, in the name of my honor. How will I ever thank you?” She laughed gave him a kiss.

Spike pulled back, playing with the ends of her blonde strands, “Like I was going to let some bleeding wanker feel up your leg,” Spike scoffed.

Their playful kisses began to deepen until Spike broke away, “Hey, I got something for you,” he reached over to where he had been sitting and brought up a thick magazine. “Hot off the press,” he said and flipped it over. On the cover was Buffy in all her wedding glory. It was a shot from the waist up and she was looking over her shoulder, showing off the long veil trailing down behind her.

Buffy ran her fingertips over the smooth glossy cover. It seemed so long ago that she and Spike had spent that day at the studio. She felt so different now.

“God, I feel like such a loser,” she stated dully.

Spike started, her reaction not being the one he was looking for.

“Um . . . Why do you say that, luv?” Spike asked, not sure what kind of territory he was about to tred on.

“Think about it. You had to force me into the dating field.” She rolled her eyes.

“Now that’s not remotely true and you know it. I have learned long ago that you, Summers, do whatever the bleeding hell you want. Not once have I seen you weakly give into pressure.” He sighed, “You have high expectations of relationships. Love is not all hugs and puppies. It’s hard. It takes work. It’s not always happy.” He turned to face her, “And we’re not always going to like each other. Sometimes your going to want to put my head through a wall. But I will promise you with the utmost certainty that we will always be in love each other.”

Spike reached down and took her hand, bringing it up to his lips. Buffy gave him a water smile.

Spike lightened the conversation, “Now if I’m not mistaken, Miss Summers, we have an unbelievably expensive pre-paid room awaiting, compliments of Anya and her desire for no one to drive home drunk and die, therefore taking attention away from today’s nuptials.”

Buffy laughed, “Well wouldn’t be an absolute travesty for such a gift to go to waste?”

“My thoughts exactly,” he jumped up, grabbing her hand to pull her up with him.

On first entering the room, both Spike and Buffy’s expectations were grossly exceeded. True it was only a one-room living space, but the privately owned bed and breakfast made the absolute most out of the area given. Across from the door was a large brass bed. The bed was high off the ground and piled high with soft pillows on a thick, fluffy comforter, inviting the room’s occupants to sprawl across it.

Being the maid of honor and best man, who were just so conveniently a couple who would share a room, awarded them with the best. Anya was so excited that she would save money in housing both the blonde couple in one room and Willow and Tara in another, that she had been easily convinced to throw in some added perks with a little nudging by Xander, who assured Spike that they would not be housed in just any motel.

So Anya had found a quaint little bed and breakfast on the same grounds of their country club wedding.

“Wow, this room in incredible,” Buffy breathed, leaning back into Spike’s chest.

Spike was rapidly losing interest in their room, his focus quickly shifting, “You’re incredible,” he spoke, nibbling at her neck. Spike had been watching her all night, and all that dancing and shaking her ass Buffy had been doing with the other bridesmaids had been slowly driving him insane all night.

She smiled, “Me? Why me?”

“Just are. The things you do, the passion you have.” Buffy hummed at the praise. Spike shrugged, “That and you have a cute ass.”

Buffy laughed, “Oh I do, do I?” She turned to face him, walking him backwards towards the bed. “Wanna see it?” She reached behind her, grabbing at the zipper of her dress. She turned around, presenting him with a view of her spine. She peeked over her shoulder, “Help me with the bow?” she asked, glancing at the bow of the dress tied around her back.

Spike strolled up to her, taking his time to take her in with his eyes. Reaching her, he lowered himself to his knees, untying the bow as he kissed his way up her spine. Slipping his hands under the sleeves, he caressed her shoulders, bringing the front of the dress down with them.

Stopping him, Buffy turned around again to see his face, “I want you,” she breathed, playing with the buttons of his shirt.

Spike pulled back a little, “You sure?”

She tugged the rest of the dress down her hip, “Mmm-hmm,” she nodded, beginning to unbutton him. He idly traced patterns on the smooth skin of her arms and breasts, mostly hidden by her white lace bra, seemingly entranced.

It wasn’t until Buffy lowered herself down onto the bed, looking up at him while undoing his belt, that he snapped back to her. “God your beautiful,” he spoke, sliding the bra straps off her shoulders. He leaned down, reigning kisses over the exposed skin, and undoing the back clasps.

He lowered her to the mattress, crawling up her body. He dipped down to capture her mouth, sucking on her bottom lip.

Her hands snaked up under his shirt, tugging at it, pouting in protest when it wouldn’t clear his arms. He lifted off her for a moment, untangling the white dress shirt from his arms, then immediately went back to her. She smiled in triumph when she got her hands on his hard chest, running her fingers possessively over him.

He slid down her body. The second his mouth closed over her nipple, a rush of wetness flooded between her legs. She groaned at the sensation, grinding herself into his hard stomach.

He backed off and she whimpered in need. “Please, Spike . . . I need you,” she sighed.

He moved down further and kissed her hip, “Shhhhhh, settle down, luv. I’ve got you.” His hand skimmed down to where his lips had been, reaching further he cupped her mound, her wetness covering his hand, his middle finger slid into her easily.

She let out a sigh and moan in relief. But it was short lived as the pumping of his finger, the addition of another, and the continuous friction on her clit stirred her further. She gasped his name, lifting her hips to meet his hand.

“So wet . . . come on, luv . . . come for me.”

And she did. Hard. Her toes curling into the blanket beneath them.

While her walls continued to flutter, and she still reveled in relaxed bliss, he eased himself into her. At the feel of her stretching, she thought she’d come again. She moaned at the tightness, her thighs falling further apart. Her eyelids fluttered open to stare into Spike’s blue orbs. He took her hands over her head, intertwining her fingers with his. Before he got too far in, he pulled back and entered her again, not much farther than before. A little more, then a little further. When Buffy bit her lip, he reached one of his hands down to her clit, beginning a gentle massage.

“Spike,” she moaned, her head thrashing against the pillow, her mind not sure whether to pull away from his invading dick or push toward the pleasure of his hand.

She chose the latter and softly cried out when his body broke her barrier.

The feel of her body knowing him and him only, her tight muscles yielding to him. He would be the first and last man ever to fill her. A strong overwhelming wind of possessiveness overtook him.

Her internal muscles complained at the intrusion, but Buffy strove forward. Her legs lifted to squeeze his hips, urging him into her. It was then that Buffy lost control of everything. She felt herself spiraling. The constant discipline she had over herself was letting go for the first time. And it felt wonderful. Her breath lost it’s rhythm, replaced by gasping and hitching breaths. Her arms clutch to him, seemingly of their own accord, her nails scratching his back. Her hips pistoned off the bed, slamming into his, reaching for something, striving -- not sure for what, but her body could feel it.

“So close,” she breathed in his ear, followed by a high pitched little grunting noise when Spike rolled his hips hard against her.

He lowered his head to rest their foreheads together, Buffy met him halfway.

“I love you,” he panted, never stopping their quickening pace. “God, Buffy . . . Love you so much.”

Buffy smiled, placing a hand on his cheek, kissing him desperately, “Love you,” she returned. “Love you . . .” her passionate ramblings came to an abrupt halt when her body suddenly tensed, eyes closing, while euphoria washed over her whole body, she cried out at the sensation. She called his name and he buried his face in her neck, soon following her into orgasm.

Two hours later, Buffy awoke to an incessant ticking that just wouldn’t stop. Giving up on blessed sleep, she rolled over to pinpoint and stop the noise. When the origin of the sound was revealed, she giggled, kicking her legs and hiding under the covers. When the incessant clicking didn’t stop, she threw the covers away from her face, huffing giddily, “Stop taking pictures of me!”

Spike took his face away from behind the camera, where he had been capturing her beauty, tilting his head, looking at her seriously, “Never,” he answered softly.

Buffy smiled, reaching her hand out to him. At her invitation, he gladly relinquished the camera, setting it on the bedside table and climbed back into bed with Buffy, where they spent the remainder of the weekend.

TBC
 

CHAPTER 31 -- It’s Gonna Be Love (Only Hope)

Eight months later . . .

Buffy sat in front of the large ivory oval mirror. The empty room that reflected back to her was about the size of her childhood bedroom, the walls painted a smooth cream. She sat on a low ruffled stool. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, a soft smile playing at her lips. She hadn’t been alone at all since she woke up at seven that morning and she reveled in the silence, only a slight buzz of conversation filtered through the thick wood door.

She laughed softly as her mother’s insistent voice steadily increased in volume, announcing her approach. Opening the door just barely enough to let her and Dawn slip in, they quickly shut it firmly behind them and locked it.

Joyce sighed, brushing off her long deep plum sundress, straightening the corsage pinned to the breast of her short sleeved sweater. “Well, they sure are packing in! Whatever happened to a nice intimate celebration?” she mused.

“I think that went out the window when you realized this is going to be the only time you’re going to see your eldest married off,” Dawn deadpanned, having watched idly by as the nuptials grew steadily bigger and bigger. Of course, Spike had been all for the ever increasing amount of guests. Dawn suspected he was only half kidding when he had suggested taking the wedding to national television. He wanted everyone and their mother to know that Buffy was his.

Buffy laughed, standing up from her chair. She wore the red fitted jogging pants Willow and Tara had gotten her a week earlier at her bachelorette party. “Mrs. Giles” was spelled out in rhinestones on the backside.

Over by the window was the strapless A-line gown with ivory buttons running the length of the back and the twelve foot veil. It was affixed to perfection on a mannequin torso.

Buffy approached the dress, running her fingers delicately over the fabric. Her hair was curled in ringlets, the sides pulled back by a diamond clip. Her makeup was flawless, and her glossed lips an enticing light pink.

Out in the church, Spike was fielding endless well-wishes from people he didn’t know. All with a smile on his face. He was on such a high, he didn’t even care when a nice little old white haired woman that no one recognized, wearing a long flowered dress with lace trim, grabbed his ass.

Seeing the rather shocked look on his friend’s face, Xander approached the groom, “I’m telling’ ya, as soon as you get that ring on your finger, the women folk just come pouring in,”

Spike turned, “Harris, you say one more word and I’m downgrading you from best man to usher.”

Spike was in the middle of asking Xander who in God’s name was that woman, when a familiar air sounded from behind him:

“Well don’t you just look like the quintessential top of the cake? If Today’s Bride could see you now.”

Spike’s eyes lit up at the girl behind him, “Cordy, you made it!”

The brunette returned with a full smile, hugging him, “How could I miss this? Spike, bachelor extraordinaire, who’s past actions are anything but angelic, standing in a church. Will wonders never cease?”

Spike smiled, “How’ve you been, luv?”

“Not as good as you, I hear. You’re little studio isn’t going to be so little for much longer. You’re creating quite a buzz. I hear Vogue is sending models down on location to you for fashion shoots.”

“Yeah, they send me something high-profile about once a month.” Organ music began to filter throughout the church, signaling guests to take their seats. Cordelia squeezed Spike’s hand before letting herself be escorted down the isle by an usher.

Pacing around the entryway of the church, Spike was getting antsy. He hadn’t seen Buffy since he’d been yanked out of her house by the scruff of his neck more than twenty-four hours earlier. He had tried on more than one occasion to see Buffy before the ceremony. But every attempt had been thwarted by the bridesmaids, who insisted on following every tradition known to man and some, Spike was certain, they were just making up to piss him off. He tried sweet talking them, physical force, and finally, whining. He reasoned that he had already seen Buffy in her dream gown for the magazine photoshoot, so what would it matter if he saw her now?

But Willow, Tara, and a three-months pregnant Anya were hearing none of it.

“But she’s my wife,” Spike argued.

“Not yet, Romeo,” Anya replied, pushing his chest, “Not for another fifteen minutes. Xander, get him out of here.”

Xander dragged him out of the way as the women successfully shut him out when they slipped into the room Buffy was getting ready in, blocking his view as he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of his bride.

Inside the room, Buffy was still within the eye of the storm. Her mother and bridesmaids fussed all around her, fluffing her dress and straightening her veil, pouring over how beautiful she looked. Buffy smiled softly. She wasn’t a bit nervous. On the contrary, she was the most relaxed and serene bride-to-be anyone had ever seen. Her life was quickly becoming more and more perfect by the moment as her time to walk down the aisle neared. A warm fuzziness spread all over her body, beginning at her stomach.

“How’s Spike?” Buffy asked the girls around her, already knowing the answer. It was well know that her significant other had the patience of an hamster.

Willow rolled her eyes, “We had to stop him on more than one occasion from breaking down the door. He’s currently out there wearing a hole in the floor with his pacing.”

Buffy smiled fondly at her fiancée’s actions.

It caused her mind to wander to a mere five months earlier:

Spike had been acting weird all week. Granted, he never did have the ability to sit still for any given amount of time, but his incessant pacing and jerky movements were starting to wear on her nerves.

It was a Friday and Buffy stood in the doorway of one of the rooms in Spike and Tara’s studio and watched as he took care of his last appointment -- a little two year old boy with a full head of floppy black hair and chipmunk cheeks.

Spike wasn’t like one of those photographers Buffy remembered going to as a child -- the kind that stood on the other side of the room squeaking various animals at her. Spike rolled around on the floor, tossing balls back and forth to the little boy. The child’s mother stood to the side, delighted as her baby laughed at the silly man crawling around on the floor. He played peek-a-boo with the baby behind the camera, letting the toddler hold and slap lightly at the camera, thinking of it as a toy. So when Spike finally took a few steps back and began snapping, the baby continued to giggle and reach toward him.

“Are you waiting to get your child photographed?”

“Huh?” Buffy broke from the trance of watching Spike with the baby. It’s mother had moved over next to Buffy, “Oh,” she laughed, realizing the woman thought she was there for pictures, “No, I’m waiting for the big kid,” she said, gesturing towards her boyfriend. Spike had finished and was holding the boy on his hip, tickling his side.

Whining softly when his mother parted him from Spike, the baby waved bye-bye to his new buddy, leaving to go see Tara at the desk to pay and make arrangements for picking up the pictures. Buffy watched as they disappeared down the hall.

Buffy felt his strong arms wrap around her from behind, “Hello, sweetheart,” Spike whispered softly. “Ready to go home?”

Buffy closed her eyes and breathed in Spike’s smell of leather and cologne, “Mmmhmm,” she replied, knowing he was talking about going back to his apartment. She practically lived there and was fairly certain that over half the clothes in his drawers belong to her.

When they got in the door, she was on him. Spike blindly through his car keys in the general direction of the dining room table. She wove her fingers through the belt loops of his jeans, dragging him toward the bedroom.

“You know, I did have a plan,” he told her between kisses.

“Did you?” she asked, pulling the hem of his t-shirt from the waistband of his jeans.

“Yeah,” he replied, kissing her again. “I was going to cook you dinner, give you a massage . . .”

“Mmm, sounds lovely,” Buffy responded appreciatively.

“Yeah, it did. Then you had to go distracting me with those wandering fingers of yours,” he grabbed her hands, placing a kiss on each digit in question and wrapping them around his neck.

She giggled, “You love my wandering fingers,” she replied, winding them through his hair, loosening the curls.

He gazed into her eyes, “Yeah . . . I do,” he replied, his voice deep with emotion. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replied. But her look of love quickly gave way to a saucy glint in her eye -- a look she learned from him. “But I’d love you even more if you didn’t have this shirt on.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Mmmhmm,” she confirmed, forcing his t-shirt over his head, running her hands confidently over his chest and abs. She loved this part of his body. Well, she loved all of his body, but his upper torso was especially pleasing to her. Just looking at his cut form made her want to smear something on it. Oil perhaps. An idea for the immediate future, she decided.

“Well don’t let me stop you on your unending quest for happiness,” he answered, daring her to take the lead in their little game. He loved doing that -- giving her the power, letting her undress him with that hungry look in her eye. He had wanted it for so long that he reveled in it when given the chance to bring out her sassy side. And it was always ready to play. Because what would their lovemaking be without a little mischievous bickering?

And she was more than game now, attacking his belt buckle and zipper, giving him a playful shove onto the bed. When he didn’t fall back onto the sheets right away and stayed sitting upright, fighting her a little, making her work for it, she straddled him, pushing her lips into a delectably irresistible pout.

“Don’t be mean,” she fussed, insisting he lay down under her.

“I would never be mean to you, kitten,” he countered, finally reclining, his hands running lazily up and down her thighs.

Getting him now where she wanted him, she smiled in success, wiggling on top of him to kick his pants down his legs. When she could no longer get his pants down in that position, she swiveled on his lap, putting her back to him and bending over. Presented with an unobstructed view of her ass, which continued to shimmy and squirm, and not only succeeded in getting his trousers off, but gave him an erection that almost blinded him.

Bring his hands up from over his head, he flipped her little scrap of a skirt up over her waist, caressing the innocent white cotton that stood between him and where he wanted to be.

“Having fun back there?” She called from her place facing his feet.

“Not as much as I could be,” he acknowledged hopefully with a surge of his hips, eliciting a gasp from his girl.

Buffy huffed cheekily, getting up off him, throwing her skirt back over her bottom, hiding it from his heated gaze. She was the only one of them wearing clothing. Too much if you asked him.

“Oi!” he objected, grabbing for her arm. “Where you think you’re going?”

She stuck her cute little nose up in the air haughtily, “You Mr. Giles, are entirely too bold for my tastes. I’ve been warned about men like you.” She gave him a look with a sexy flair in her eye, the look he taught her. “I think I should leave,” she turned in the direction of the door.

So that’s the game she wanted to play was it? Well she was in for a surprise. He created that game. It was fucking named after him.

“Not going to let you do that, luv.” His voice rumbled. He slid off of the bed with panther-like grace. “See, you’ve had your fun -- got me all excited, you did. Now, it’s time for me to have a little . . . fun.” He spoke while running his hands possessively over her body. When he brushed her hair to the side and bit down on her neck, over the pulse-point, every bone in her body gave itself over to him. “Come to bed with me, Ms. Summers. I promise you won’t regret it.”

As she let herself be led back to his plush bed, her clothes fell seemingly by themselves to the floor.

He held her hand, helping her climb onto the bed. He followed after her. When she went to lay down, he grabbed her waist, hoisting her back up against him. He put his knees behind hers, spreading her thighs wide. One of his hands slid to her opening, the other to her breast. Her head fell back against his shoulder, letting her body be manipulated by him as he drew a flood of moisture from her. She grunted and moaned and sighed as he attacked her neck, breasts, and between her legs while rubbing his dick in the fluid running down her thighs. When he finally took her it was from behind. Allowing him to hit that spot. Over and over again.

He abandoned her breast to hold her harder against him as he assaulted her clit and pounded into her, trying to release the throbbing that had built up in both of them.

When they came it was hard, bringing them to release sounds that were foreign to them before that moment.

For as hard as they came, he brought them down gently, laying them on the comforter. Buffy sighed in contentment, snuggling under the covers with him, their foreheads almost touching. She didn’t feel tired or worn out from their lovemaking. Rather she felt calmed and revitalized. She always felt that way after being with him. She went through her day anxious and fidgety until she’d had her daily dose of Spike -- whether it be sex or a hot kiss. It centered her.

She rubbed her hands over his shoulders and neck, stroking away any knots in the hard muscle there. He smoothed his fingers through her tresses, studying the way the light of dusk reflected off of each strand.

His eyes not leaving her face, Spike slid his arm under the pillow beneath them, maneuvering his hand around something. Bringing his fist out, his other hand let go of her hair, catching her wrist. He opened his hand to reveal a sparkling stone.

Mr. Slick had managed to hid the box under his pillow and extract the ring out of it’s velvet case one-handed.

“Marry me,” he requested softly as he slid a 3-carat emerald-cut diamond ring with diamond side stones onto her left middle finger.

Buffy’s eyes instantly watered, despite herself, at the look of blind devotion and love in his eyes. “Yes,” she breathed, bringing her hand to his face to guide him towards her to make love to her fiancée.


Churches and reception halls alike were more than happy to clear their schedules for their favorite wedding planner. And Buffy had planned her own wedding in just a couple months.

Now, standing at the back of the church, her bouquet of pink gardenias in hand. She watched as each of her bridesmaids parted from her to start down the aisle.

Spike thought it wouldn’t be any different, seeing her all dressed up in her gown, her hair curled, and her bouquet in hand, looking just like she did in the magazine. But when the double doors in the back of the church opened and revealed Buffy standing in the back, the afternoon light streaming behind her like an angel, the air whooshed out of him. She was meant to be a bride -- the most beautiful bride ever.

Xander slapped a hand on his back, “Remember to breath, man,” he spoke to his friend.

Spike jolted out of his reverie, snapping his jaw shut.

When she came up to stand beside him, he ran his fingertips over her bare shoulders, transfixed by the sight of her. Buffy herself slid her hand over his smooth suit until the priest pried that apart, making the room full of guests laugh when he shook his finger at them, telling them they could wait twenty minutes until the ceremony was over.

Hours later, everyone was on the dance floor. Spike and Jenny swayed beside Buffy and Giles. The group laughed as they continued to joke back and forth.

“And to think,” Giles nodded at Spike, “he used to beg us for a little brother or sister,” he chuckled to Jenny.

Buffy tilted her head, “If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you have any more children?”

“Oh, William proved himself to be more than a handful for the both of us,” Giles answered with a pointed look at his son.

Buffy could imagine. She had gotten the overview: A few too many permanent marker drawings on the wall as a toddler transitioned to teenage years of spray painting and a punk rock we-defy-authority attitude.

“I’ll have to fill you in on his more interesting exploits,” Jenny said to Buffy, winking.

Spike rolled his eyes, “Buffy is fully aware of my checkered past, there’s really no need . . . .”

“Why? Because she might think twice about have your children? Afraid she might be a little hesitant to bring the second coming of you into her home?” Giles turned back to Buffy, “We’d like to think of Will’s behavior as a glitch in the otherwise spotless Giles family history.”

“Oh like you were much better?” Jenny asked, her tone hinting at her keen knowledge of the older Giles’ childhood.

Spike turned to his father, “Now, if you don’t mind, Rupert, I’d like to dance with my wife.”

Rupert smiled and nodded in consent, spinning his daughter-in-law one last time, before giving her once again over to his son.

As they danced across the room, Buffy snuggled against he husband tighter, “I love you.”

“Love you, too, princess,” he replied, rubbing their noses together. He kissed her top lip, then the bottom, before placing his mouth over hers in as heated a kiss as she would let him in a roomful of friends and family.

Pulling back, they gazed into each other’s eyes as they continued to waltz around the dance floor.

TBC (the last chapter - “Epilouge”)

CHAPTER 32 -- EPILOUGE

Author’s Note: Well, this is it! I owe this entire story to Carol, who’s idea this whole story was. I’m so grateful she let me take her idea and make it my own. I’m so very proud of this story (my longest). But, alas, all good things must come to a Spuffy-happy end. What’s next for me you may ask? (If you could care less, then just skip this part) Well, I’ll be working on some non-AU stories, fixing some old ideas that I’ve had for a while. So look for me at Spuffy Realm and Buffy and Spike Central. I’m currently playing around with a Spuffy AU idea that has the Scoobies as kids in flashbacks.
Thanks to baby spikes for the motivation, Essi and her friend’s patient hamster, Cordykitten, BuffyandSpikeForever, Beth, hotlippedjen, and everyone else who reviewed!

Oh, hey, I read this fanfic and now I can’t remember who wrote it, what it was called, or where I found it. It was all the Scoobies as kids. They’re in Mr. Giles 2nd or 3rd grade class. Buffy’s new, and her and Spike instantly hate each other (he keeps yanking her pigtail). Spike is Giles’ son. Their class puts on the Wizard of Oz for their class play. Buffy get the role of Dorothy and Spike as the Tinman. She has to kiss him on the cheek in the play. If anyone has any info on this story -- it would be greatly appreciated!

So, without further ado, the last chapter of Game of Love:

1 1/2 years later . . .

He came in through the door, escaping the overwhelming heat of summer and welcoming the cool rush of air-conditioning. She was sitting on the couch, folding cotton candy pink onesies and matching miniature socks no longer than his pinky.

She looked up at him, bright hazel eyes shining.

“Hey,” she greeted as he stopped in front of her to press his lips against hers, “You’re home early.”

“Got through the last appointment quick and Tara agreed to stay and take care of the details. Had to come home to my two favorite girls. Speaking of two . . .” he glanced around the room.

Buffy pointed behind him, towards the kitchen, “Just got cleaned up after her lunch.”

Spike spun around. Within sight of the living room where his wife sat, was Liv’s highchair. There his daughter was perched, playing with an empty bowl and wooden spoon. She put the bowl on her head and beat the spoon against the little tabletop in front her, blowing raspberries.

By some random act of God, two naturally non-blondes had a fair haired baby girl. And she was beautiful, with a pout that rivaled her mother’s. At the sight of her father, she immediately began her incessant intelligible chatter. Flailing her little arms and legs towards her father, bouncing her diapered bottom up and down in her chair.

Buffy passed him going into the kitchen. Lifting her daughter up out of her chair, she set her down on the wood floor and moved to put away the highchair.

The baby crawled across the floor, making little pitter patter sounds as her tiny palms slapped the kitchen floor, sliding her chubby legs behind her, booking it for the couch that she liked to hold onto as she attempted to walk.

“And where do you think you’re going, my love?” Scooping her up from the floor, Spike lifted his baby into the air. Liv laughed, clapping her hands.

Settling her down in his arms, the baby yawned at her father, her little face scrunching up, showing signs of her approaching naptime. Displeasure in losing her battle with sleep, but content to settle her flailing limbs in her father’s embrace, Liv settled down within minutes. Her eyes slowly blinked as Spike rocked her in his arms, humming softly and whispering words of love, until Liv’s miniature lashes closed in sweet slumber.

Quietly ascending the stairs, he turned into Liv’s room, settling her into the pink and white crib. She began to fuss and Spike rubbed her tummy until she drifted back to sleep. Leaning down to place a kiss on her head, Spike ran his hand over her wispy curls, “Sweet dreams, princess.”

He shut off the light as he left the room. Walking across the hall he flipped on the lights in his and Buffy’s bedroom. Sitting down on the bed, Spike pulled off his shirt, throwing it across the room into the hamper. Leaning down he began to untie his boots, having forgotten to take them off downstairs in his haste to see his daughter.

A gleam of something silver caught his eye. Leaning back on his hands, he stared at the shiny object. On the dresser, next to the bed was a framed black and white picture. It was of Buffy -- the one Spike had taken of her after their first night together. She was laying on her stomach, a red quilt pooled low on her waist. She was snuggled softly into the pillow, a sleepy, content smile on her lips.

He was brought out of his reverie by a movement in the doorway. Buffy stood watching him. Smiling, she crawled onto the bed, throwing her leg over so she was straddling him. He put his hands on her hips, slightly rounded from carrying his child.

She wound her arms around his neck, “After Liv’s nap we’re meeting at Xander and Anya’s for the baby shower.”

Spike leaned his head back, groaning, “Will those two ever stop procreating?”

Buffy laughed, “Number three and counting. She wanted the baby shower early this time. I think she’s trying to make it so we forget and won’t know the difference when she makes us buy more stuff for her closer to the birth.”

Her husband rolled his eyes, “Considering the number of free pictures I have to take of all of Harris’ kids, we shouldn’t have to get those brats of theirs anything.”

“Yeah, but think of how nice it’ll be in a few years. When Liv gets older and we give her a sister or brother, they’ll be bunches of kids running around during the holidays. Willow and Tara are getting married and they’re already thinking about adoption. We’ll all be one great big family.” Buffy dream was so contagious that Spike found himself imagining next Christmas with everyone.

But, first thing’s first.

Spike nuzzled Buffy’s neck, “Who says Liv has to be older?”

“Spike, she’s still in diapers!” Buffy objected, but made no move to push him away.

“She’ll be just about getting out of them by the time you deliver.” Spike’s hands continued to roam over her body. “You haven’t taken your pill for today have you?”

Buffy returned his smirk, shaking her head no.

“Don’t,” he requested, reclining them back on the bed.

Buffy pulled back, studying her husband, “Do you always get what you want?” she asked challengingly, a teasing smile playing over her lips.

He roamed his eyes over her, thinking back over the past several years. The day they met in college, the afternoon he walked into her shop, the magazine shoot, the day he asked her to marry him, their wedding, Liv’s birth . . . And smiled, “Always,”

THE END