Chapter 2:
Love and Marriage

Early One Morning
Love and Marriage

Dialogue from “Hell’s Bells” by Rebecca Rand Kirschner

Many thanks to the excellent transcripts at buffyworld.com, without which this story wouldn’t be possible.

Willow had always firmly believed that as a veteran of five - or was it six? - apocalypses there was nothing left that she couldn’t face.  Clearly, she thought, there are fates worse than death.  “Buffy, it's hideous. Oh my god, Buffy. Look at its arms!”

Buffy nodded agreement bravely.  “I know. But it's my duty.”  They surveyed their reflections ruefully.  Their dresses had the colour and sheen of snot that had been hawked up by some vast, slimy, subterranean slug demon – that had then completed the picture by vomiting up excrescences of ruffles to garland them from knee to ankle and from shoulder to elbow.  If there ever could be an advantage to being a vampire, it would be that I would never have to see myself like this.  “I'm... Buffy the bridesmaid.”

Outside, lightning flared and thunder bellowed as if to mark her words as a declaration of inescapable destiny.  Willow declined to notice.  “Duty-schmuty. I'm supposed to be best man. Shouldn't I be all... Marlene Dietrich-y in a dashing tuxedo number?”

“No.”  Buffy refused to let her friend escape sharing her doom that easily.

“Oh,” Willow replied, pouting.

“That would be totally unfair. We must share equally in the cosmic joke that is bridesmaids-dom.”  Buffy groaned, sat down on the bed, and began to put on her earrings.

“Well, maybe ... if I ask Anya, I can still go with the traditional ... blood larva and burlap,” Willow said, desperate to find a way out.  “I mean, she was a, a vengeance demon for like a thousand years, she would know all the most flattering ... larvae. What was she thinking?”

“I think she's probably too stressed to be thinking right now. What with Xander's relatives and her... demons,” Buffy observed.

“Oh my god, last night, that rehearsal dinner. That was like a… a zoo without the table manners. And I bet it got worse after we left,” Willow said, though her expression said that she wasn’t sure how that would have been possible.

Buffy was incredulous. “I just can't believe everyone bought that story about Anya's people being circus folk. Did you see the guy with the tentacles? What's he supposed to be? Inky the Squid Boy?”

“And Xander's family. I haven't seen them that bad since my bat mitzvah. Ugh, did you see how much they drank?”

“Kinda.”  Buffy made a wry face.  “Mr. Harris threw up in my purse.”  Willow’s face twisted in sympathy.

Behind them, Anya appeared in the doorway, dressed in only her white bathrobe.  On seeing the two women, she gasped and put her hands to her mouth. “Oh!”

Buffy and Willow exchanged a look, unsure whether Anya was delighted or horrified with their appearance.

“Ohh,” she sighed again.  “You guys look so beautiful!”  She swept into the room and drew them both into a vigorous hug.  “This is the happiest day of my whole life!”  Lightning flashed again outside, offering more dramatic meteorological punctuation.  Behind Anya’s back , Willow and Buffy looked at each other again, the former with irritation and the latter resigned to her fate.

“Is this strictly a hen party, or can I come in?” drawled a gruff voice from the doorway.  Spike leaned nonchalantly in the doorway, his hair and his leather duster both sleek with rain.  He nodded graciously to Anya as though she were in a ball gown, rather than a dressing gown, then took in Willow and Buffy in their finery beyond her.  The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Spike!” Anya protested.  “You can’t come in here.  I’m not dressed!”  Her protest trailed away when she realized he was looking past her as though she were transparent as glass, and she modulated her tone to resigned acceptance.  “Well, all right.  But if you two are going to be having inappropriately timed sex just hours before the ceremony, you had better not get her dress all wrinkled.”  With that commandment, Anya flounced back out of Buffy’s room and returned to the bathroom to continue her toilette.  Spike tilted his head gravely as she passed, as though accepting her conditions.

“Ah, maybe I should go and see how Tara is managing her dress,” Willow offered, as she slipped past Spike as well.  Buffy was left standing alone in her room, two bright spots of colour burning high in her cheeks. 

Spike remained leaning insouciantly in the doorway, a smirk gracing his pale lips.  “Thought they’d never leave.”

Evil.  I know he’s evil, because only an evil man could be putting these thoughts into my head in the middle of the day.  “Spike, what are you doing here in the middle of the day?”

“It’s the perfect day to travel,” he said, indicating with a nod the lowering skies outside.  “And I wanted to see you again.  I can’t get enough of seeing you happy, even when it’s for other people.  You… you glow, love.”

Buffy snickered.  “That’s because the dress is radioactive.”

He laughed openly.  “It’s the sworn duty of every bride, pet, to make sure that all the other eligible women at the wedding come off as poorly as possible.  Don’t want the groom possibly thinking that he made a mistake.”   He moved in closer and trailed a finger down her throat.  “Fortunately for me, I have superior vampire senses.  I can see right through… deceptions.”

“Ah.  I… see,” she replied huskily.

He leaned in to whisper in her ear.  “If you’ve got a few minutes you can spare me, I can try to make you even happier.”

“Spike!” she protested, laughing.  “I just finished my makeup and my hair!”

“Don’t worry, love,” he said, drawing away from her only long enough to shut the bedroom door.  “I won’t mess your do or your pretty face.  But I can’t promise I won’t leave you weak in the knees.”  His covetous glance from under lowered lashes sent shivers of anticipation down her spine.  I must be evil too, to want him so much.  Bad Buffy.  And I don’t care… She was sure that her panties were soaked through already; even before he had touched her, her body was responding to the very thought of him with a rush of slippery warmth.

In a moment he was on his knees before her, skimming his hands up her legs and lifting the rustling green taffeta of her skirt to her hips.  His palms traced the curve of her pelvic bones before cupping her gently to him.  His nose grazed the sheer fabric of her panties and he paused a moment for a deliberate inhalation.  “Did I ever tell you, my queen, how I adore the scent of you?  That alone when you walk into the room is enough to give me such a cockstand…”  He looked up briefly to judge her response and was gratified to see her eyes flutter closed and her head loll back.  Buffy reached behind her to steady herself against the wall, and Spike shifted position slightly to ease some of the sudden pressure behind his zipper.

He hooked his thumbs into the lace of her panties and pulled them swiftly down, tapping each of her feet peremptorily in turn until she stepped out of the silky bit of fabric, which he then shoved roughly into the pocket of his duster.  She shifted position unconsciously, affording him a glimpse of pink shielded by dewy curls.  “You have the most beautiful cunt, love,” he declared.  “It’s like a delicate little flower, and all I have to do is tease apart the petals to be rewarded with the sweetest nectar.”  He drew another lungful of air as though to sustain himself all afternoon on one breath of her.  “There are so many ways I could please you; so much further we could go.  Maybe even spank that round rosy bum of yours, and then take you up the arse.  Would you like that?”

Oh god, his mouth.  He has such an evil, filthy... wonderful mouth.  Buffy tipped her chin to her chest to look down at him, her eyes heavily lidded with desire.  “Are you just going to keep talking, or are you actually going to fuck me with that mouth?”

He froze – the predator beneath her suddenly finding himself the prey – but only hesitated for an instant before he grinned widely in anticipation, the tip of his tongue curling up behind his teeth.  “That’s my naughty girl.”  Let slip that leash of propriety just a bit more, love, I swear I’ll meet you halfway.  “I should have known from how your fingers went exploring this morning that you were ready for the next level.”  He leaned forward into her.

And then it didn’t matter that the wall moulding was digging painfully into her back or that his thumbs would surely be leaving bruises on her inner thighs; her entire attention was focussed on the sensations being elicited by his sinfully skilful mouth. She would have collapsed at his first touch but for the strong hands on her legs and the platinum head between her thighs.

He began with slow, sweeping licks but soon focussed his attention, leaving no part of her unsampled.  His tongue slid over her slick, swollen labia, deftly parting her lips to pierce her and taste her before returning his attention to her tender clit.  A delicate tongue-tip pushed back the hood and bared it to his blunt teeth, which grazed and nipped until she was nearly ready to scream.  He relented, and instead sucked the erect nub between his pursed lips.

She moaned deep in her throat and clutched at his damp hair, pulling his curls into disarray.  He looked up briefly with a wicked gleam in his eyes, and then redoubled his attentions with a rumble of satisfaction that penetrated from her crotch to the very crown of her head.  Eager fingers slid into her slick opening, crooking forward to rake the tangle of sensitive nerves there.  Buffy bit down hard on her lips to stifle her cries, but he felt her reactions in the delicate fluttering of her inner muscles against his lips and tongue.

He had just slipped his fingers from her again and was reaching to tease open the dark rose between her buttocks when there was a loud knock at the door.  “Buffy, aren’t you ready yet?” Dawn called.  “The cab’s here.” 

Spike muffled a curse against her thigh, but then swiftly drew her dress back down, smoothing it over her legs.  He sat back onto his heels and quickly wiped his face before dropping his hands into his lap to conceal his own arousal as Dawn entered the room.

She stopped and stared at the tableau thus revealed; Spike kneeling before her sister reverently, his duster pooled about his legs.  “Whoa…” she stammered.  “Either Willow’s into the heavy spells again, or this wedding stuff is really catching.  Sorry if I interrupted something important, but…”

Buffy laughed shakily.  It’s not what you think – or maybe that’s what you should think.

Spike took a long moment and let his eyes trace every curve of Buffy’s body.  He licked his lower lip slowly to savour a surreptitious taste of her and lifted his gaze to hold her eyes before he spoke.

“Slayer knows she owns me, Bit,” he said.  “Don’t think that a ceremony or a piece of paper would make much difference.”

Buffy closed her eyes at this renewed profession of his unconditional devotion, and took a deep breath before replying.  “You go ahead.  Collect Willow and Tara – I’ll be right down.”

Spike waited until Dawn had left before he stood to cup one hand gently to Buffy’s flushed cheek.  “I suppose this means I’ll have to see to myself then,” he teased, leaning against her so she could feel the heavy press of his erection against her thigh even through all their intervening clothing.  She ground her hip against him mercilessly, and reached for his pocket and her panties, but his hand closed abruptly over hers.

“Hey,” she protested with a smile.  “I need those.”

“Not as much as I do, pet – having to stay back and only watch you all through the ceremony and then at the reception too.  Seeing you up at the head table there and not being able to touch you for hours…”  He slipped her panties from his pocket and rubbed the slight wisp of fabric against his cheek.  “With these, I might barely survive – and I know you will be thinking of me.”  He grinned.  “Oink, oink, Slayer.  Now off you go.”  He chivvied her out the door and down the stairs to where the others were waiting.

**********

Spike watched from the front window of Buffy’s room as the five women piled into the cab.  Anya wouldn’t let the garment bag with her dress out of her sight, so it ended up draped across the back seat passengers.  He could almost hear her demands that it be given a seat of its own.

Once they had driven away, he turned from the window and shrugged out of his duster, leaving it lying across Buffy’s rumpled bed.  For a moment he only stood and looked around him at her room, filled with all the mementos of her life.  He still found it hard to believe that he could belong here among the stuffed animals, photographs and gaudy baubles that decorated her space.  Our space, sometimes.  His own scent mingled with hers in the room now, and anyone with the nose to sense it would know that she belonged to him, and he to her.

When he closed his eyes, it was as though she were standing there before him, the scent-picture of her in the room was so strong.  Oh how the ghost of you clings.  He pulled her panties from the pocket of his duster where it lay, and collapsed into the armchair.  Between the silken fabric, the smell of her come on his fingers, and the taste of her on his lips, he could almost imagine he was still nosing into her soft folds.  His cock twinged in its denim constraint as he remembered how only minutes before he had been permitted between her taut, golden thighs to savour her sweetness.

He shifted uncomfortably, using the heel of his other hand to ease the pressure in his crotch, enjoying for a moment the painful pleasure of satisfaction deferred.  I’ve never been much of one for patience or self-denial, though, he thought, and quickly opened both the button and zipper to set his aching prick free into his hand.   

He stroked the length of himself twice, before opening his hand to spit into his palm.  With his eyes closed, a spit-moistened thumb-tip became her tongue circling him, teasing back his foreskin and collecting droplets of pre-come from the slit.  Her lips were the reddest silk and her tongue moist velvet when she caressed him.

He moaned and tightened his fingers, imagining himself trapped in her hot, wet, grasping cunt, driving them both to another delirious peak of pleasure.  Saliva soon wasn’t enough to keep his skin from pulling painfully under his hand, and he hissed.  Have to nick a tube of lube from the chemist, especially if Buffy’s ready for something new.  But for the moment, her panties would serve.  He wrapped the soft fabric around himself and began to stroke in earnest.  The occasional rasp of crisp lace against his cock’s sensitive head made him think of her even white teeth scraping at him, teasing him until he believed he would explode just from the thought of her.

The rhythm of his hand quickened, and he began to gasp for unnecessary air.  Oh god, love, the heat of you when you take me in your mouth.  Love the taste of you, when you’ve tasted me. Want to bury myself inside your sweet quim, pet, make you come, come for me, ah, say my name when you come, love.  Look at me when you come, love; see me.  Let me see everything of you.  Ah, fuck, hot, sweet Buffy, my love, my queen, oh my goddess, ah, harder, yes, like that, hurt me sweet, fuck me, fuck me now, oh woman, oh love--!   “Buffy!” he cried hoarsely, as he threw his head back against the chair and let himself come. 

He came back to himself moments later and tossed the panties over to the bed to lie in stark contrast to the black leather of his duster.  Definitely time for a shower, he thought ruefully, surveying the spatter of semen over his hand and stomach.   Spike pulled his tee shirt over his head and used it to wipe most of the sticky mess away.  He dropped the soiled shirt to the floor where it was soon joined by his boots and jeans, and walked naked into the bathroom.

Spike adjusted the showerhead to a sharp needle-like spray and turned on the water as hot as it would go.  Hot water wasn’t really a luxury for him; his body paid attention to neither heat nor cold except when they might lead to his destruction – fire and freezing being somewhat inimical to vampires.  But he enjoyed the way hot water felt, and the way it warmed him to near human temperatures.  Buffy had already teased him more than once about having cold feet.

It took him a few minutes to locate some soap and shampoo that wouldn’t leave him all floral scented.  If he was going to smell like Buffy, he wanted it to come from her body on his, not some poncy pink soap.  The steam intensified the fragrances in the bathroom until he once again could almost imagine Buffy was there in the shower with him, and he felt himself stirring again at this thought.  Ah well, it’s not like anyone is waiting on me to be on time. I’m hardly the main attraction.

Eventually the hot water began to run cold and Spike decided he’d had enough. Scrubbed clean and with his hair slicked back again from where Buffy had nearly snatched him bald, he made his way downstairs, cool air caressing his bare skin.  He’d left the bag of purloined dress clothes at the front door when he came in, not wanting to attract undue attention.  I’ll drop them back at the shop tomorrow, and no one will be the wiser.