When Spike Met Buffy
Chapter 14:
"So, Spike." Oz's voice trailed off as he leaned over to take his shot at the pool table. Straightening after blatantly missing the ball he'd been aiming for, he shook his head and shrugged. Turning to his friend, who was currently chain-smoking behind him, he circled the pool table to where he'd left his beer and took a swig. As he swallowed and prepared to complete his train of thought, Spike gestured to the table, indicating the only ball that had actually moved: the cue ball.
"You do know, of course, that you're supposed to actually hit the ball with that other ball?"
Oz coolly raised an eyebrow at him. "I was more focusing on the 'cool' aspect of my shot. See, totally cool, here."
"Uh huh, whatever," Spike winked as he leaned on the edge of the table to assess his next shot. "So, what were you going to say, mate?"
Oz watched as the other man effortlessly sunk one of the striped balls in a corner pocket before continuing his question. "Well, you know I popped the question to Willow a couple of months ago, right?" At Spike's nod, he shrugged. "Well, she's in the middle of making all these girly wedding plans, you know. That got me thinking. I mean the least I can do, as a man, is make sure I have a best man, right?" He gestured with his beer bottle. "I was kinda hoping you wouldn't let me down, pal."
Spike sighed, staring down at his Doc Martens before meeting Oz's look. "From the tone you've taken, I'm guessing this means I have to wear some sort of embarrassing monkey-suit." He shook his head and resumed planning his next shot. "Sorry, man, but I'm not wearing a tux."
"Oh, come on," Oz said, in as close a tone as he ever got to pleading. "I need you next to me on my big day! And, you can't exactly wear worn-out jeans and a leather jacket to the wedding ceremony." When Spike didn't reply, Oz took another tactic. "I mean, how long have we known each other?"
The Brit snorted incredulously as he aimed and missed, coming around to light another cigarette. "Obviously not long enough, if you think for one second that I'm going to let you dress me up like some bleedin' cake decoration."
"Buffy'll be there. She's the maid of honor."
Spike hesitated for a moment, the hand that held the lighter trembling slightly as he focused on lighting the end of his cigarette. Taking a long drag and exhaling, he set his brow in determination. "Hoo-bloody-rah. Next incentive?"
"Thought you'd be in if you knew she'd be there." Oz mumbled in puzzlement as he stared at the pool table, trying to concentrate on the angles of the balls in relation to the pockets.
Perching on a chair, Spike laughed. "Mate, you'd 'ave had more luck getting me to do it if you'd told me she wasn't going to the damn show."
"You mean you guys still aren't speaking to one another? It's been four months already, man."
"No shit," Spike exhaled his smoke around the statement. "But I figure if I call her and she dodges, and doesn't return my messages, then it's her loss."
Oz fixed him with a pointed look. "Good way of looking at it. Now, let's try it once more with truth involved."
Spike rolled his eyes and stared at the floor. "I don't know, mate. I have no idea what I did wrong, but she goes off saying it was a mistake and refuses to speak to me afterwards. She was the one who fucking came on to me!" He shook his head. "Bint's got issues."
"I think you both are perfect for each other," Oz mused. "You're great as friends, but throw sex into the mix and you're at each other's throats because you've been secretly replacing your ex's with each other."
"That's where you're wrong, mate," the bleach-blonde cut him off, leaning back in his chair and staring off into space. "I don't give a bloody damn about Harm anymore. Never really did. Harmony was the replacement. Buffy was the girl I couldn't have, or who wouldn't have me." He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray before taking out another to light. "The night we." Trailing off, he lit the fag and simply finished with, "Best damn night of my life."
"Why do you think she's reacting this way?"
"Wish I knew." He sighed and shook his head, before determination crossed his features. "Sod it. I'll be the best man, Oz. Just." He stared intently at his best friend. "Do not make me look like the ringmaster at the bleedin' circus!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Buffy stood with Willow in the middle of the bridal shop, watching as her friend skimmed the racks of wedding dresses in search of the perfect one. She alternately shook her head "no" or shrugged in a "maybe" gesture as the selections were presented to her for approval. Her feet were killing her and, for the billionth time that day, she wished that Willow would pick something and be done with it.
Turning to the bridesmaid dresses, she absently fingered one of the sleeves of a lavender chiffon number. "So, is Spike bringing that Cordelia chick to the wedding?"
She heard Willow's muffled voice from the dressing room behind her. "Uh." Zip. "No, they broke up right after. well." Rustle. "You know. the 'incident' that shall not be mentioned."
"Oh." She sat down in the chair next to the mirrors outside the dressing room. "So, is he seeing anybody? Not that I am, in any way, interested." she insisted vehemently.
"Of course you're not," her friend soothed half-heartedly. "He was sorta seeing this stripper for a week or so." More sounds of fabric rustling came from behind the door.
"What did she look like?"
"Oh, you know. oomph! Blonde. Thin. Big tits. Your basic slut-bomb." The redhead appeared from behind the door and walked over to the mirrors to look at her choice. "So, what do you think?"
Buffy's mouth dropped open, all thoughts of Spike's dating life forgotten for the moment. The dress Willow wore was made of soft green silk, which shimmered according to the light changes, and had off-the-shoulder gauze of the same color in thin strips, in lieu of sleeves, that wrapped loosely around her upper arms. The shade of green in the dress set off her friend's green eyes and flaming red hair beautifully. As Willow turned around, Buffy saw that the back half was almost non-existent, a large scoop reaching down to the small of the back displaying creamy flesh.
"Oh, Wills," Buffy gasped. "It's beautiful."
Her friend beamed. "Really? I love it, too. I just want everything to be perfect."
"And it will be," the blonde promised.
As Willow re-entered the dressing room, she tossed over her shoulder, "Good, that's done. Now we get to have you try on your dress!"
Buffy blanched. "As long as I get to choose the color."
Willow's head poked out from behind the door, a frown on her face. "You don't trust me?"
"You're the one who chose the store with bridesmaids' dresses that glow in the dark," Buffy insisted. "If I glow next Sunday, I want it to be because I'm happy. Not because the dress is radioactive!"
Chapter 14:
"So, Spike." Oz's voice trailed off as he leaned over to take his shot at the pool table. Straightening after blatantly missing the ball he'd been aiming for, he shook his head and shrugged. Turning to his friend, who was currently chain-smoking behind him, he circled the pool table to where he'd left his beer and took a swig. As he swallowed and prepared to complete his train of thought, Spike gestured to the table, indicating the only ball that had actually moved: the cue ball.
"You do know, of course, that you're supposed to actually hit the ball with that other ball?"
Oz coolly raised an eyebrow at him. "I was more focusing on the 'cool' aspect of my shot. See, totally cool, here."
"Uh huh, whatever," Spike winked as he leaned on the edge of the table to assess his next shot. "So, what were you going to say, mate?"
Oz watched as the other man effortlessly sunk one of the striped balls in a corner pocket before continuing his question. "Well, you know I popped the question to Willow a couple of months ago, right?" At Spike's nod, he shrugged. "Well, she's in the middle of making all these girly wedding plans, you know. That got me thinking. I mean the least I can do, as a man, is make sure I have a best man, right?" He gestured with his beer bottle. "I was kinda hoping you wouldn't let me down, pal."
Spike sighed, staring down at his Doc Martens before meeting Oz's look. "From the tone you've taken, I'm guessing this means I have to wear some sort of embarrassing monkey-suit." He shook his head and resumed planning his next shot. "Sorry, man, but I'm not wearing a tux."
"Oh, come on," Oz said, in as close a tone as he ever got to pleading. "I need you next to me on my big day! And, you can't exactly wear worn-out jeans and a leather jacket to the wedding ceremony." When Spike didn't reply, Oz took another tactic. "I mean, how long have we known each other?"
The Brit snorted incredulously as he aimed and missed, coming around to light another cigarette. "Obviously not long enough, if you think for one second that I'm going to let you dress me up like some bleedin' cake decoration."
"Buffy'll be there. She's the maid of honor."
Spike hesitated for a moment, the hand that held the lighter trembling slightly as he focused on lighting the end of his cigarette. Taking a long drag and exhaling, he set his brow in determination. "Hoo-bloody-rah. Next incentive?"
"Thought you'd be in if you knew she'd be there." Oz mumbled in puzzlement as he stared at the pool table, trying to concentrate on the angles of the balls in relation to the pockets.
Perching on a chair, Spike laughed. "Mate, you'd 'ave had more luck getting me to do it if you'd told me she wasn't going to the damn show."
"You mean you guys still aren't speaking to one another? It's been four months already, man."
"No shit," Spike exhaled his smoke around the statement. "But I figure if I call her and she dodges, and doesn't return my messages, then it's her loss."
Oz fixed him with a pointed look. "Good way of looking at it. Now, let's try it once more with truth involved."
Spike rolled his eyes and stared at the floor. "I don't know, mate. I have no idea what I did wrong, but she goes off saying it was a mistake and refuses to speak to me afterwards. She was the one who fucking came on to me!" He shook his head. "Bint's got issues."
"I think you both are perfect for each other," Oz mused. "You're great as friends, but throw sex into the mix and you're at each other's throats because you've been secretly replacing your ex's with each other."
"That's where you're wrong, mate," the bleach-blonde cut him off, leaning back in his chair and staring off into space. "I don't give a bloody damn about Harm anymore. Never really did. Harmony was the replacement. Buffy was the girl I couldn't have, or who wouldn't have me." He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray before taking out another to light. "The night we." Trailing off, he lit the fag and simply finished with, "Best damn night of my life."
"Why do you think she's reacting this way?"
"Wish I knew." He sighed and shook his head, before determination crossed his features. "Sod it. I'll be the best man, Oz. Just." He stared intently at his best friend. "Do not make me look like the ringmaster at the bleedin' circus!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Buffy stood with Willow in the middle of the bridal shop, watching as her friend skimmed the racks of wedding dresses in search of the perfect one. She alternately shook her head "no" or shrugged in a "maybe" gesture as the selections were presented to her for approval. Her feet were killing her and, for the billionth time that day, she wished that Willow would pick something and be done with it.
Turning to the bridesmaid dresses, she absently fingered one of the sleeves of a lavender chiffon number. "So, is Spike bringing that Cordelia chick to the wedding?"
She heard Willow's muffled voice from the dressing room behind her. "Uh." Zip. "No, they broke up right after. well." Rustle. "You know. the 'incident' that shall not be mentioned."
"Oh." She sat down in the chair next to the mirrors outside the dressing room. "So, is he seeing anybody? Not that I am, in any way, interested." she insisted vehemently.
"Of course you're not," her friend soothed half-heartedly. "He was sorta seeing this stripper for a week or so." More sounds of fabric rustling came from behind the door.
"What did she look like?"
"Oh, you know. oomph! Blonde. Thin. Big tits. Your basic slut-bomb." The redhead appeared from behind the door and walked over to the mirrors to look at her choice. "So, what do you think?"
Buffy's mouth dropped open, all thoughts of Spike's dating life forgotten for the moment. The dress Willow wore was made of soft green silk, which shimmered according to the light changes, and had off-the-shoulder gauze of the same color in thin strips, in lieu of sleeves, that wrapped loosely around her upper arms. The shade of green in the dress set off her friend's green eyes and flaming red hair beautifully. As Willow turned around, Buffy saw that the back half was almost non-existent, a large scoop reaching down to the small of the back displaying creamy flesh.
"Oh, Wills," Buffy gasped. "It's beautiful."
Her friend beamed. "Really? I love it, too. I just want everything to be perfect."
"And it will be," the blonde promised.
As Willow re-entered the dressing room, she tossed over her shoulder, "Good, that's done. Now we get to have you try on your dress!"
Buffy blanched. "As long as I get to choose the color."
Willow's head poked out from behind the door, a frown on her face. "You don't trust me?"
"You're the one who chose the store with bridesmaids' dresses that glow in the dark," Buffy insisted. "If I glow next Sunday, I want it to be because I'm happy. Not because the dress is radioactive!"
