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Vows The Summers’ House, Sunnydale , CA June 22, 2002 6AM Logan woke to the woman he loved draped over his chest. He’d never dared to imagine, as far back as he could remember, that a putz like him could wind up with a girl like Buffy. “Baby?” He whispered. She didn’t seem willing to wake. With eyes still closed, she reached up and covered his mouth with her palm. Logan kissed it urgently, running his tongue slowly over her heart line, her life line, and her fate line. She tugged, taking her hand back, and tried to roll to the right, to escape lucidity, but he pulled her on top of him, tucking her head under his chin. He sighed contentedly. He was the luckiest man in the world. And for the rest of his life, he would never forget how close he had come to losing her. Nuzzling his chest with her nose, she sighed, “Ten more minutes, honey? Please.” Then, raining kisses on his throat, she continued, “Please-please-please-please-please.” In a low growl he chuckled and the sound, even huskier than usual, made things tighten down low, inside of her. Buffy’s fingers slid to the ticklish skin beneath his ribs. He batted her hand away, so she tickled lower. He gasped and squeezed her tightly against him. “You know we could be married and on our honeymoon right now, if you had gone along with my Vegas idea,” he rumbled. “In fact.” She raised her head from his shoulder; most of her hair was discordant tangles hanging in front of her eyes. She was so adorable, she took his breath away. “Huh?” “C’mon, baby. Let’s just jump on the back of my bike and head out. Vegas is only 7 hours away, faster if we risk a few measly tickets. We can blow all this fancy party stuff off. Everyone would understand,” he said, grinning confidently at her. “Eventually.” Buffy’s eyebrows lifted behind her bed-head bangs and she glared at him sourly. Rearing back, she sat down on his thighs and put her hands on her hips. Her gorgeous long, golden hair tumbled down her back. Then, her lips formed a dangerous pout. Damn. He was in trouble. “Logan , I agreed to go on a honeymoon with you in the frozen tundra of the north. I am not giving up my wedding day just so you don’t have to put on that tux,” she said, removing one hand from her hip long enough to point at the hanging bag from the formal wear store. “Buffy,” he hedged, absently massaging her lower back. “Banff is not the frozen tundra in June. We talked about this.: She crossed her arms. “Average daily temp again, please?” Logan frowned. “18 Celcius.” “Which really means?” “You know what it means. We converted it when you made me-” Buffy interrupted his speech with a swift storm of tickles across his stomach. “Asked,” he gasped, trying to gather both of her wrists in one hand. “Asked me to go honeymoon clothes shopping with you.” She wasn’t having it. Buffy leaned over him, hands sliding up to his shoulders, lifting her hips off of him, pressing him back into the bed. “What was that temp again? This time in American, please.” Logan cupped her bottom and aligned their bodies, grinding his morning arousal into her warmth. He closed his eyes briefly, reveling in her sweet softnes s. “64 degrees Fahrenheit,” he replied grumpily. She beamed her victory at him and the room was suddenly brighter than the sun. “Exactly. Sweater weather.” Thinking for a minute, Logan rolled her under him. “For wussy California girls, maybe,” he mumbled, nipping at the skin around her collarbone. “Wussy? What!” she cried in mock outrage. “If that’s really what you think of me, then I guess I’ll be going now. Thanks for playing. It;s been fun,” she giggled and pushed him back on to his side of the bed. Her toes touched the floor and she was up. He trailed closely behind, as she made her way to the robe draped across her chair. Tugging the robe out of her hand, he hugged her from behind. Buffy’s eyes shuttered closed at the feel of his warm body against her from head to calf. She had bought him cotton pajamas, but he refused to wear the top. Buffy glanced down at herself. At some point during the night, she had put them on over her naked skin, buttoning only one button, which seemed to be askew second button, third hole. “Logan ,” she whined. “I’ve got to get showered and downstairs. I have things..” “No, you don’t.” “The chairs still need to be set out in the backyard.” “Xander and Giles can do it.” “I have to finish tying up the bird seed bags. And,” she paused, reaching forward for her list on the desk. Logan ran his hand along her arm and pulled it back. Crossing it over her chest, he held her still within the circle of his arms. “Dawn can do it.” “No, Dawn is on hors d’oevres,” Buffy said, standing a little straighter. “We did what we could ahead of time, but there are still lots of trays that need to go into the oven,” she corrected primly. “Then,” he said forlornly, as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Yep,” she smirked, in her best western drawl. “Sorry. Ya done run out of calvary, cowboy.” Logan shook his head and turned her around in his arms. Kissing her softly, he confessed, “I just hate it when that happens.” “So what do you have going on today?” Buffy asked, trying to change the subject. “Well, I thought I’d better stick close to you. Otherwise, you might run off and get hitched to that list you seem to have fallen for,” he grumbled. “Ohhh no,” she scolded. “You’re not supposed to see me on our wedding day. It’s bad luck.” Logan laughed and stole another kiss. “But I’m already seeing you. Right now.” “I know. We are so tempting fate,” she whispered against his throat. God, how he loved the feel of her breath on his skin! Apparently unaware of, or undaunted by the desire racing through him, Buffy was talking when she should’ve been kissing. “It’s bad as in very. You’d better hurry and get ready, so you can get out of here.” But the thought of untangling and separating himself from her was not appealing. He wanted to be holding her like this and in more horizontal ways, for the rest of the day. Hell, for the rest of all of his days. Just like now. He could give up food, he realized. Stock a cooler of beer by the bed. And surely she would let him keep a stash of cigars handy, if he smoked out on the roof. On second thought, maybe he should find a house for them with the master bedroom on the first floor. It kinda bugged him that after the honeymoon they were moving into her mom’s room. Plus, less travel time to the bedroom from just about anywhere in the house, in a one-storey. He glanced at her. Nah, she;d never go for that. He had a hard enough time getting her to marry him without what she called the “minimal six-month preparation time”. If he started talking about moving, Buffy might postpone the wedding another month, possibly longer, just to torment him. “Buffy, I’m staying here,” Logan reminded her, pulling her closer, rubbing her back again in slow circles. “I’m living here for the next “forever”until Angel thinks Faith is rehabilitated,” he smirked. “Did you forget?” She leaned back to look at him, surprise evident on her face. “No. But you can’t! You aren’t really going to be here all day, are you?” She seemed serious about this. Damn. He’d try to change her mind once more, just in case. After all, he knew all of her favorite places to be touched. Swiftly, he dropped to his knees. Parting the fabric of her half of the pajamas, he ran his whiskered face over her belly, down past her navel, branding her with hot-tongued kisses as he went. “Oh! oh that’s so not fair. You have to not be here!” He spoke again, his voice rough and thick with desire. “That was your plan. But plans can be changed. Care to change the plan and make my day even better?” She shivered. Shook her head. Tried to recover. “Logan ! We can’t! We so don’t have time,” Buffy whined, slipping out of his grip. “And you have to leave.” Logan stood and knotted his hands behind his back, emphasizing his straining erection. “Mm-hm. And where do you think I should go?” he asked, glancing down at his body, then leering at hers, and finally turning to check the time on the alarm clock. He met her eyes. They still smoldered. He bit back a smile. “I’m kinda hungry,” he admitted, dragging out the last word. “But if I go grab something at a diner, it would only last half an hour. What could I possibly do with the rest of the day? Hmmm… It’s only 6:19 in the morning. The wedding’s not for another 7 and a half hours. What could I eat that would last that long?” “Shopping? You could shop,” she offered weakly. “Mall’s closed for hours,” he reminded her, moving closer. She backed up, almost to the window. “You could go for a drive.” “A 7 hour drive? Like to Vegas, maybe?” he grinned, cornering her on his side of the bed. Buffy stood on her toes and leaned forward, wavering. He studied her expression. She looked like she was thinking ‘hey, maybe surrender has its merits’. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I do have to take a shower.” Logan crushed her gentle curves against his hard form. “Showers are good. I need one, too,” he smiled encouragingly, whispering a kiss across the middle of her forehead. Say yes, he thought. Say yes. Say yes. Say yes. God, he wanted to hear her say it. Over and over again. For hours. Forever. “I need a shower. You need a shower,” she said thoughtfully. “We are under a drought alert. We probably shouldn’t waste water.” “Probably not,” he said in mock gravity. “That’s my slayer! Always making things better... for the environment.” Then, without warning, Logan bent down and lifted her easily into his arms, heading for the shower. He was out the bedroom door and halfway to the bathroom, only to be interrupted, mid-stride, by the scent of a stricken Dawn running up the stairs. “You guys better hurry up. Giles is downstairs. Bad news on the watcher front,” Dawn said as soon as she saw them. “How bad?” Buffy asked, as Logan lowered her to the ground. “Big bad. Big, big, big, end of the world, big bad,” Dawn sighed. Buffy looked up at him, the apology in her eyes before she could say it. He nodded. “Go on. I’ll shower and be down in a minute.” Racing back to her room to grab her robe, Buffy called a “thanks honey,” over her shoulder before she reached the stairs. Logan leaned against the cool, white wall, watching Dawn trail behind Buffy. It would often be this way, one of them running off to a meeting about saving the world or at least some part of the population while the other waited to hear the news, hoping to be of some help. Returning to the task at hand, Logan turned the shower on and regarded himself in the mirror. Then he glanced at the door. He could hear her downstairs, greeting Giles and Xander, asking Dawn about coffee. Logan stopped listening and turned his thoughts to the events of the last few months. It might not be an easy life, or an easy marriage for that matter, but they would be together. Whether the bad guys cut short their lives that very night, or a thousand-thousand nights in the future, the vows they were about to exchange would seal their union forever in the eyes of the world, and unite them on earth and in the afterlife, if such a thing existed. “Logan !” Buffy huffed as she ran back up the stairs, “You’re needed, too.” Logan’s brow furrowed. What? What for? “Ok darlin’,” he said, meeting her in the hall. As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he noticed it resting on the table. Tracing her fingers over it nervously, Buffy wouldn’t look at him. Everyone else in the room, Giles, Dawn, Xander were all studiously not meeting his eyes. Oh shit. “Buffy, what is that? What’s wrong?” he asked, gesturing to the carved wooden box under her hand. “It’s from Travers. There was an explosion. He left instructions that this was to be sent to me if something happened," Buffy rushed. "And?" "He’s dead." Knowing that Travers’ name alone could upset Buffy, nevermind whatever was in the box, Logan nodded and let her tell him about it. “It’s the cure,” she said, finally raising her eyes to meet his. “Oh... Oh-Kay,” he replied woodenly. Turning to Giles and the others, he asked, “Guys, can you give us a minute?” “Of course! Of course, we can,” Giles said quickly and herded Dawn and Xander up the stairs. “C’mere,” he said, offering Buffy his hand. She inhaled deeply, exhaled, and laid her little hand in his. Caressing the top of her hand with his thumb, Logan pulled her toward the sofa and into his lap. “Buffy, that cure is for you. Not for me. Travers sent it here.” She shook her head and leaned back onto his shoulder. “I don’t want that stupid cure. I never wanted it.” Incredulously, Logan asked, “Uh, never? ‘Cause I seem to remember…” “OK, not never,” she admitted reluctantly, “But definitely not now. I love you. I don’t want to be without you. If something were to happen to one of us…” Logan nodded, his scruffy unshaven cheek pressed against the top of her head, softly tugging at the crown of her hair. “I was just thinking that.” Looking up into his eyes, she said, “Then we’re agreed. We just burn the contents of that box. On the honeymoon, maybe?” “Right,” he replied thoughtfully. “We wouldn’t want anyone else to get their hands on that.” Buffy stood and pulled him up. Smiling at him, she said, “So... let’s get hitched. You head for the shower. I’ll deal with the other Giles-related stuff and meet you up there in ten minutes.” “Ten?” he asked suspiciously, crossing his arms. “Knowing how Giles loves to give speeches, don’t you think that’s a little wishful thinking?” Buffy raised her right hand. “Slayer’s honor.” “Ok. Ten minutes.” Fifteen minutes later, Buffy was five minutes late. Shedding his clothes and stepping under the blast of hot water, Logan sighed. Finally, he’d found her. Despite everything, they made it through, and although she was not the most punctual person ever born, she was there for him when it counted like nobody else. She was a handful, his woman, his wife, his mate. And nothing else in this life would ever make him happier. (finis) Previous Chapter A Slayer's Heart Menu
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