The wedding had been a roaring success with no family there to disrupt the proceedings or attempt to murder either of the grooms. Spike steadfastly denied being related to Angel, claiming, loudly and repeatedly, to be the progeny of 'the evil twin - the one with fashion sense and more than two expressions'.
Wesley had made sure to keep at least ten feet and three other people between the vampires at all times, determined to see this momentous occasion conclude peacefully. Not that he needed an excuse to cling tightly to Angel's arm, not now they were legally married in a variety of dimensions, including, with the help of several bizarre demonic ceremonies, this one. Okay, so the United States Judiciary certainly wouldn't uphold the marriage vows, no matter what officious-sounding language had been used, but that barely even caused him a moment's concern. Angel had stood before over 250 of the most influential demons in California and pledged his troth to him, to Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, ex-Watcher, ex-rogue demon hunter.
A large heavy hand landed on his shoulder and began to stroke and pet, and Wesley belatedly realised he was hyperventilating - again - just at the thought of being married to Angel. He was married to Angel!
"Breathe, Wes, please. Half the demons here already think you're having panic attacks because you're so terrified of Angelus making his reappearance in the marriage bed. I somehow didn't think you'd appreciate me telling them about those 'test runs' you insisted on. Or the chains you bought for the occasion."
Angel smiled softly at Wes' somewhat dazed expression, and pressed a delicate kiss upon his slightly parted, lightly panting, lips.
"In another hour or so the last of the guests will have left for their beds and we'll be free to go and find our own." He paused, and glanced around the room, frowning worriedly at the sight of Spike and Xander Harris deep in conversation in a shadowy corner. "I just hope the spells you cast to keep Spike out of our rooms worked properly. I'd hate to think what he might do if he managed to get inside."
"So, did you do it? All of it?"
"Shhh! Dammit, Spike! Keep your voice down unless you want to get us strung up by the balls for ruining Deadboy's big night. Yes, I did it all. I injected all the tubes of lube with holy water. I set the video camera up on the top shelf of the closet and left the door open just enough so it gets a good shot of the bed. I put the blue dye into the showerhead and emptied every bottle of shampoo and shower gel I could find. I even stole the grungy bar of soap from the cupboard under the sink." Xander patted his pocket gingerly. "God knows how long that's been under there. And I'm sure there's a couple of curly blonde hairs stuck to it so I wrapped it up in toilet paper because - ew! - if I took it out and those hairs weren't still stuck to it, I'd never be able to put my hands in my pockets again."
Spike grinned wickedly.
"You can always put your hands in my pockets, luv. I won't mind."
Two sets of wickedly glinting eyes unfocussed for a moment and then Xander shook his head to clear away the enticing images of naughty public touching. Spike just seemed to bring out the kink in him, not that he was complaining.
"Later, baby, I promise. But right now we have a show to put on, remember? Everybody's just drunk enough not to try for immediate stakeage when they figure out we're for real, and I've been looking forward to this for months. You, me, dressed to kill, and a dance floor just waiting for us to do our thing." A tan hand clamped over Spike's mouth before he even had a chance to draw breath. "Not that thing, Mr Sex-On-The-Brain. The other thing. The dancing thing. The tuxedoed waltzing, foxtrotting, tangoing - and whatever those other dance steppy things were that you taught me - thing. That thing where we walk out there and take it in turns to be the girly one, for leading purposes only, of course. So lead me, swirl me, dip me, twirl me. Let's go out there and show everyone that Wes and Deadboy aren't the only happy homos in this hotel tonight."
Shoulder to shoulder they approached the half-empty area of hardwood floor populated by a strange selection of demon, human and mixed species couples. The band, a local family of Mulchek demons that Spike unsurprisingly knew - Xander was beginning to think there wasn't a demon in California that Spike didn't know, either directly or by some convoluted chain of acquaintances - watched them cross to a spot in front of the stage and expertly segued into a marvellous, bluesy rendition of Cole Porter's 'Let's Misbehave', as performed by Eartha Kitt.
Xander blinked, impressed with how similar the small male demon sounded to the CD Spike had had him practicing to for the last two months. Who knew that Catwoman could sing like that? Or that someone so small and so yellow could sound exactly like her? A finger politely tapping on his shoulder attracted his attention and he glanced up into Spike's politely inquisitive face.
"You went to the Catwoman place again, didn't you, pet? I told you, she was singing long before she put those ears on and she's still got a pair of lungs on her now, last I heard. Now, are you ready to dance, luv, or should we forget all those squashed toes and crushed fingers and little hissy fits when you tripped over your own feet and ended up on your arse? I mean, I'm easy, I don't mind either way, but you said you wanted to..."
"Stop whining and let's dance, Spike."
The heat in Xander's gaze, and the obvious, eager anticipation, removed any sting from the words and Spike stepped closer, took a firm grip of his partner, and began to whirl them around the dance floor, easily avoiding the other couples as he completed a circuit of the floor and immediately began a second.
The song changed, several times, but the mood and the beat remained the same, and Spike and Xander danced, eyes locked, fingers entwined, thighs brushing and legs entangling as the steps demanded and neither one put a single foot wrong.
Halfway through 'Let's Misbehave' they began to gather an audience, and by the time they came down to earth, out of breath and drunk on the joy of it all several songs later, there was a ring of watchers three bodies deep, with Angel and Wes holding court in the front row.
"...Drusilla's William?" ... "...the Slayer's boy..." ... "...hated vampires..." ... "...a joke..." ... "...Angelus..." ... "uncontrollable..." ... "...Deadboy..." ... "Buffy will never..."
Grinning, they danced one final circuit of the ring, gloriously flamboyant in their movements and gestures, until they came to a halt barely two feet away from the newlyweds. And then they kissed.
It was neither a simple peck nor an outrageously erotic display. The kiss they shared was slow, and deep, and totally consuming. Their audience watched in silence as they shared their love for one another with each gentle touch, each pre-emptive tilting of head and angling of body to accommodate the other's next move.
By the time they broke apart, only far enough to allow Xander to breathe, it was obvious to all that this was no practical joke. They moved, during the dance and the kiss, like two men with intimate knowledge of how well their bodies fitted together. Their friends, speechless up until now, mostly due to shock and disbelief, belatedly began to snap out of their various stupors and surged forward in an attempt to talktouchrescuestake one or both of the swiftly back-pedalling pair.
"Think they got the message, pet?"
"Hell, yeah! So, time for the final act, you think?"
"Definitely." Spike's decisive nod coincided with their backs colliding with the edge of the stage, and, as if this scene had been expertly choreographed, four sets of small yellow hands reached down and swung them easily up on to the stage and just as speedily shuffled them off stage-right where a fifth Mulchek demon, this one obviously female - the lilac crest gave it away - waited to usher them out of a side door into a waiting taxi.
"Did she get here?"
The demon winked and nodded, shooing them off as she turned to hurry back into the hotel.
Certain segments of the wedding party barely had time to realise that their quarry had disappeared before the curtains behind the band were drawn apart, exposing a slender woman clutching a microphone and looking slightly lost. Then her eyes lit on Angel and her whole demeanour altered, the first notes of music urging her forward to the edge of the stage, burgundy velvet flowing over her curves like a second skin.
With a delightfully insane little smile she lifted the microphone and began to sing, haltingly...
"While tearing off a game of golf
I may make a play for the caddy
But when I do, I don't follow through
Cause my heart belongs to Daddy..."
"I'm going to kill them, both of them, and if that gives me a moment of perfect happiness and somehow breaks the binding spell and lets Angelus free, you have my permission to stake me. It'll be worth it."
END Lyrics by Cole Porter:
You could have a great career,
And you should;
Yes you should.
Only one thing stops you dear:
You're too good;
Way too good!
If you want a future, darlin',
Why don't you get a past?
'Cause that fateful moment's comin' at last...
We're all alone, no chaperone
Can get our number
The world's in slumber--let's misbehave
There's something wild about you child
That's so contagious
Let's be outrageous--let's misbehave
When Adam won Eve's hand
He wouldn't stand for teasin'.
He didn't care about those apples out of season.
They say that Spring means just one thing to little lovebirds
We're not above birds--let's misbehave
It's getting late and while I wait
My poor heart aches on
Why put the brakes on? Let's misbehave
I feel quite sure affaire d'amour
Would be attractive
While we're still active, let's misbehave
You know my heart is true
And you say you for me care...
Somebody's bound to tell,
But what the hell do we care?
They say that bears have love affairs
And even camels
We're men and mammals--let's misbehave!!!