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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”)





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