Speak of Your Loved Ones

Part seventeen of the Foolish Games series.

Watching them on the bed, he understood that it was all for a good cause. Willow was helping with the wedding. And the wedding was this stressful thing looming over all their heads -- mostly because the girls insisted on it being so, but Oz wisely kept that thought to himself. So seeing them on the bed surrounded by swatches and swatches of white fabric, crystal, and endless pictures of completely unrealistic models in gowns that, at that price, should get more wear out of them than the few hours the actual event would take.

He got it. Really he did. But why his bed? And why did they have to be that particularly disquieting picture that used to haunt them because, although he would never admit it, they were aesthetically pleasing to look at. Especially asleep together.

"Xand."

"Just five more minutes, Mom."

"Xander."

"Ten minutes, Anya."

"Xander, man, wake up." When it didn't appear the groom-to-be was going to budge, Oz threw in, "I think I hear Anya calling."

Xander turned from Willow and cracked his eyes at Oz. "You hear her too? I thought it was just me," he mumbled.

"Yeah. I hear it. And I think she's pissed. Something about cheese-doodles and delicacies."

None to gracefully, Xander managed to stumble out of Oz's bed, landing in a heap at his feet. Oz was sure Xander wouldn't remember the incident later when he really woke up, and if he did he'd chalk up Oz's staring down at him with an arched eyebrow and a soft growl to being half-sleep. Not that Oz really cared. He just wanted the man out.

Oz climbed into bed with Willow, pulling her closer as he settled himself.

"Xander?"

"Heard his Anya calling him. Dinner's ready."

"Oh. Oz?"

"Always."

"Good." She turned over and rested her head on his shoulder. Oz fell asleep. So did his arm.

Finn[ish]