"I can't believe my sister is getting married, and I can wear whatever I want."

Willow nodded, adding another pin to Dawn's calla lily corsage. "It is kind of disorienting. How's that feel? Secure?" They both glanced in the mirror.

"Yeah, it's fine. It just doesn't feel like a real wedding without a dress the color of a blender drink, and shoes dyed to match."

"This is a real wedding! Stop saying it isn't a real wedding!"

Buffy appeared in the doorway. "You two are supposed to be helping me dress. Don't make me call Xander up here instead."

She stood in the bedroom doorway, hair already done in an updo with strands that floated down around her neck, in her high-heeled shoes and underwear, a bra and panties so tiny and sheer that Willow, after the initial look, averted her eyes as heat rose to her cheeks.

Dawn grinned. "Buffy—wow."

"I promised I'd be beautiful for him."

"I don't think that's gonna be a problem.

There was a knock at the door. "Slayer! You dressed yet?"

"Spike!" Dawn called. "You're not supposed to see the bride in her dress before the wedding."

"That's why I asked if she's in it yet."

Buffy called out, "Not yet!" She'd gone tense as soon as she heard his voice.

"Lemme in then. Just for a minute."

The women looked at each other; Willow was inclined to send him away—the ceremony was in an hour, and there were things to do—but Buffy gestured at her sister to open the door.

Spike stood there in his usual black jeans and teeshirt. Willow opened her mouth to ask if that was really how he was going to appear at the wedding when he jerked a thumb at her and Dawn. "You two lovelies—out. Come back in fifteen minutes."

"You said one minute."

He raised an eyebrow. "I lied."

Buffy started forward. "Spike, what is it?" She'd gone pale under her sheer glowy make-up. "Is something wrong?"

At sight of her, he froze. A wolfish grin took him over. "Nothing, pet."

Willow plucked Dawn's sleeve. "Let's go. Fifteen minutes."

Spike said, "Make it twenty," and shut the door on their backs.

Buffy's ankles were watery, it was all she could not to stagger on her delicate heels. The sight of him now was piercing, as if they'd been separated for a long long time.

They'd agreed to sleep apart the last night. Buffy had lain alone in bed thinking about Spike, elsewhere in the castle, and much as she tried to focus on their future together, on the high-minded aspects of their mutual mission, she couldn't get the one nagging thought out of her head, of him alone, his hard cock in his hand. She'd come three times against her twisting pinching fingers, picturing him wringing himself out over her.

"Bloody hell, look at you."

"You're not supposed to be looking at me. This is for after the party. What is it, Spike? Is there some—"

"Just couldn't wait 'til after. That's hours away. Need you now."

"Oh Spike ... we can't."

He'd come close to her, crowding, dancing her around so he could back her up to the armchair, tipped her into it. "Spike, we're supposed to be getting ready."

"Tell me to go away." He dropped to his knees before her. "Tell me you don't want me to touch you. Tell me you don't want to stand up in front of all of them in a few minutes' time, still tremblin' an' wet an' flushed from what I'm gonna do to you. How beautiful you are when I've made you come an' come. Want 'em all to see you like that."

"Oh God." She was quivering already, before his cool hands even made contact with her bare legs, parting them, ghosting along the insides of her thighs.

"Need your pussy, love. Can't put it off for later."

"Just don't tear my—I got these things for you. For later."

"Beautiful little nothings they are. Can see you right through 'em."

She arched obediently as he slipped the panties down, leaving them to dangle from one ankle as he leaned in between her legs. "You wanted me too, been consoling yourself," he murmured, his tone rough and tender. "You smell like love."

Her groin was heavy again now, her head swimming as the blood rushed there. "I always want you. Spike—hurry."

"Ssssh. No rush. Oh love, look at your pretty cunny, poutin' at me." He teased the folds of her labia with his fingers, spreading the dewy moisture that was already collecting from inside. "Couldn't stop thinkin' of it. Your delicious little snatch."

"Please. Pleasepleaseplease." She was already half way there, bowled over, helpless, nearly breathless with her own desire. Spike held her hands pinned against her widespread knees; this light restraint stirred her up higher; she mewed.

"Sweetness. Ah, look at this. You're twitchin' for it." He kissed her belly, her thighs; her muscles jerked and rippled. He breathed into her curls, lipping along the crisp edge where they gave way to bare wet flesh. "You're mine, my little wife."

She groaned and thrashed her hips when he tongued her taut clit, surged against his mouth, and dissolved with a harsh cry.

"Yes, all mine. Hot little cunny an' warm little heart an' all."

"Yes. Yes. Yesyesyes." His words seethed in her head. "I'm yours. Fuck me, Spike. Please, now, please. Fuck."

"Thought there was no time."

"I don't care. You have to. You must be aching by now." She tried to reach for him, but he was still holding her wrists down. She could've easily broken his hold, but it was exciting, incredibly exciitng, to be ruled by him. Instead she pleaded. She knew he liked that. "Or do you want me to suck you? Your big cock in my mouth. Give me your cock."

He peeled back his flies; the shaft jutted out, curved up towards his belly, the crown bright red. She was free to reach for it, but she went on pretending she couldn't, gripping the chair arms to hold herself back.

"I was thinking about you like this all night. You with a hard-on. Getting yourself off."

"Gonna make you worship that, by the hour, when you're mine."

"I'll worship it now. Put it in my mouth, I want it."

"Not yet." He moved in closer to her, rubbed his erection along the slick channel of her spread labia, the head prodding her clit with each forward motion. "Here's our dance, yeah?"

"Our favorite one."

"Ah, Christ. You're so soft."

"Put it inside."

"Not yet."

She was aware of the minutes slipping by, of her dress hanging up behind the door, of the dewy glow that had broken out over her whole freshly-showered and perfumed body, of her sister and her friend impatient to come back into her rooms, of all the denizens of the castle who were gathering in big hall below to see her and Spike married. At the same time her attention was completely trained on what was happening right here, the euphoria that tingled all through her, the playfulness of what he was doing, and the intense seriousness of it too, as if this was somehow the ceremony that would marry them together.

Spike leaned in and pressed wet kisses on her nipples through the thin silk that covered them.

"Oh! Ohhh ...."

"Thought I forgot these little darlings?"

She smiled. "We both know you're not so much a tit man."

"Love your pretty tits. I'll make you come, just by kissing them."

"Not now. We don't have time—!"

"In Paris. We'll have all the time we need then. I'll give them such a time, then." He was still rubbing his cock against her, pressing it with his hand so that the big vein and fat spreading head worked the whole length of her clit, tight against the root.

"Are you going to come on my belly?"

The suggestion seemed to please him. "Shall I?"

"Let me touch you now."

"Kiss me first."

"Dawn and Willow are going to come back—!"

"Kiss me on my mouth. Kiss me."

She threw her arms around his neck then, and he buried himself against her, tongue in her mouth, body to body; she felt his cock pulse, and the thick splash of his spending. He was still kissing her as he gathered up his spunk, brought it up to her mouth; she licked it off, until he took his wet fingers away and brought them back to her cunt. She came again hard as the knocking began.

"One more kiss," she said, even as she was pushing him away. "God Spike, this was crazy! Get out of here!"

"Don't wash. Put on your dress now."

"Out!"

He looked exultant himself, putting his cock away, pulling down his teeshirt. She hauled herself up, retreating into the bedroom again as he let in her two bridesmaids, who scolded him as they shooed him out.

In the mirror she saw the wild just-fucked flush he'd spoken of. There was no time to render herself once more pristine, but she decided that Spike was right, she preferred to appear this way, and wouldn't have undone the last twenty minutes for anything. Panties back on, she was reapplying her lipgloss when Willow came up behind her.

"I guess the groom had some very important last thoughts to impart while you were both still single."

"We ... we really aren't single anymore. I think we're married now.

Willow crooked an eyebrow. "You're a very dirty girl."

Buffy nodded. "It takes one to know one, right?"

"You are so happy," Willow said. It wasn't a question. She pressed a kiss to Buffy's cheek. "Spike's an extraordinarily lucky vampire."

"He's the luckiest vampire in the whole world."

Dawn peered in. "I have your bouquet here. Can I look at you, or am I gonna be too embarrassed?"

"C'mon in, Dawnie. Let's dress the bride." Willow took her gown from the hanger.

"You can look." Buffy began to laugh. "Spike wants everyone to look at me."