*****

The sign said "Closed for Private Party".

Someone -- and everyone suspected Spike -- had scribbled out the 'y' and written in an 's'. Only *he* knew the truth. Well, he and the guilty party, who was currently humming innocently over a pint of imported beer. And Spike, of course, since he wasn't guilty. But since the vampire--who'd never stopped singing, "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" since he'd skipped in the door--wished he'd been clever enough to think of it, he was letting everyone go on suspecting him.

The Host gave all the newest arrivals his most cheerful, welcoming, hi how are you don't mind the horns smile. Only half of the guests had ever been here before, but of course he knew them all. The party was in full swing, and it had only started ten minutes ago.

"Does anybody know where I'm supposed to set this thing up?" The words came from a large drum set with legs, but they were spoken in the voice of a bass guitar player. Which is to say, the boy was never meant to sing.

"Alfredo, help this poor boy." He waved over one of the waiters, a Skeelax demon, who lifted the entire drum set in one hand and carried it off towards the stage. "You shouldn't be worrying about that stuff," he said to the shortish man revealed by the drum set's sudden absence. "You're a guest. Mingle. Drink. Enjoy."

The young man blinked, then nodded. The Host felt like he'd just finished a convoluted conversation involving the rites of parties and guest/host rituals. Perhaps he was reading into it. But since that *was* his business, he didn't think anything of it.

The young man moved away, disappearing into the crowd which, while small, was managing to sound louder than his usual Thursday nights. The Host suspected part of it was the shouting match being held over near the door, and headed that way to see if they were having fun, or needed intervention.

"I am *not* wearing that hat!" It was Gunn, at his biggest and butchest, struggling in Angel's arms while Wesley tried valiantly to slip a horned Viking helmet onto his head.

"Suits you, actually," Spike shouted from the bar. He was trying to sound drunk, though due to orders from on high--Cordelia specifically--he wasn't being allowed anything stronger than Dr. Pepper until after nine. Even the Host didn't mess with Cordelia, so his waiters and bartenders were watching Groom Number One with hawk-eyes. Literally, in the case of Raz, the Egyptian demon.

"Are *you* actually calling *me* horny?" Gunn shouted back, surprised enough that Wesley finally managed to plant the hat, while Gunn was staring incredulously at the smirking blond at the bar. Gunn whirled immediately on Wesley with a fierce expression. The Host honestly didn't understand why the boy *bothered*. Everyone and his mother knew that Wesley had Charles Alyious Gunn -- and Angel -- firmly wrapped around his little finger.

Or possibly something else which the Host wouldn't repeat in polite company. Or whatever company *this* was. He stopped moving towards the tangle, but continued to watch, just in case. Besides, it was entertaining. Wesley knew more ways than the Host had ever seen of making his lovers do things they absolutely refused to do.

Right now, Wesley was just holding back laughter. The Host didn't blame him -- the Viking hat looked absolutely ridiculous. Which meant he fit right in.

"Whose stupid idea was it to make everyone wear hats?"

Spike looked resolutely innocent, even under the force of Gunn's glare, but 'Maxwell's Silver Hammer' said otherwise. It told a sordid story that began with 'How dare they tell me I can't go past first base until after nine,' continued through 'Fine, wait 'til they hear about the ancient Frolox bachelor party tradition of everybody having to wear extremely silly hats,' and ended with 'why can't I get this sodding song out of my head, I know you're listening to me, you flaming green wanker.'

The Host was going to ignore Spike for as long as he could -- he knew it would drive the vampire nuts, not seeing the demon react to everything he was thinking while he sang under his breath.

"Charles, you needn't wear the hat if you *truly* don't want to," Wesley was saying, and those nearby perked up and listened, even if they pretended not to be. Charles, for his part, only started to reach up for the hat before he sighed.

"I don't even wanna know how you're gonna talk me into it," he said in defeat. "Fine. I'll wear it, but only if Angel wears the jester's hat."

Angel didn't even bother to answer. He took one look at Wesley turning toward him, and pulled the cap and bells down over his head. He did, however, turn to face Spike. "One word -- one -- and I'll tell *everyone* why you're afraid of squirrels."

Angel, luckily for the entire room, wasn't singing, or in any way attempting to make music. Spike, of course, was still humming under his breath, and it took every ounce of self-control the Host possessed not to fall on the floor in a puddle of laughter.

The Host saw the glare Spike shot his way, and the quickly-covered expression of genuine worry that followed. Xander was leaning over, then, and whispering something into Spike's ear. Spike began to relax, then he turned to meet Xander's whispering with his tongue.

Cordelia was walking past, and she raised the plate she was carrying. Spike quickly pulled away. "That didn't count! It wasn't against rule number four which clearly states "snogging" and as we *all* know, snogging requires both tongues."

Cordelia was glaring at him, and kept the plate up where she could use it, while she considered it.

"Let it go," Rupert said as he came up behind her. His tone was reasonable, almost sympathetic. "You can't expect Spike not to get a kiss after nearly hearing everyone find out that he was once--"

The hand that clapped itself over Rupert's mouth came as no surprise -- the fact that it was *Xander's* hand, the Host found amusing. "Be nice, Giles. Or I might have to start showing everyone the pictures I keep in my wallet. Especially the new one I just got from Wesley."

A few bars of 'Sweet Transvestite' hummed at the Englishman in the Atlanta Braves cap, and the Host was once again resisting the urge to laugh. Or surreptitiously check out Rupert's legs. Actually, on reflection, there really wasn't any reason to resist the latter, so he didn't.

Unfortunately the man was wearing trousers which fit entirely too loosely. The Host gave it up for lost, and moved back through the crowd again, listening in to snippets of conversation and watching everything to make sure everyone had a good time and that nobody died who wasn't already dead, or on-stage.

"Hey, is she the entertainment?" A tall, blond man asked everyone in his general vicinity, pointing at Cordelia.

"I *heard* that, Devon," she said, quietly, but her voice carried over the crowd, and silence fell. You could almost hear the theme from High Noon being hummed. Actually, you could, and it was the young man with the voice of a bass player who was humming it.

"Well, this *is* a guys' party, right? And you're not a guy. I think. So you must be the stripper, right?"

Oz was thinking something about Devon having started early, and how all he wanted to do was make sure his new bass didn't get crushed in the melee.

"Actually, since the grooms in question are both grooms, the stripper should be male." Angel looked fairly ridiculous, playing peace-maker while wearing a jester's cap. But it was enough to distract Devon, who glanced at the vampire - glanced long and hard, up and down.

"You offering?"

The Host didn't have to be prescient to know who was on his way over, to voice an objection.

"We come as a group," Gunn said icily, and he looked just big enough and bad enough, even in the Viking helmet, that nobody dared to make the pun. Especially with Wesley standing next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other held casually in the air, a ball of eldritch energy floating and crackling above the palm.

"Hey, no problem here," Devon said with a lascivious --or possibly stoned-- grin. "Anybody else got a problem with them all three stripping?"

"Yes," Cordelia hissed. "The entertainment is already set up, and it doesn't involve my boss getting naked. At least until after the party in the privacy of his own suite and God, what am I saying. That's it, set-up's done, I'm leaving. Giles, make them behave." She turned on her heel and walked out the door. There was a collective sigh of relief, and Spike made a quick move in Xander's direction. Only to be grabbed by the collar and firmly re-settled in his chair by Rupert.

"Oi! What the bloody hell--"

"If you think for one moment anyone believes you'll behave if you're sitting on Xander's lap, than you're sadly mistaken."

"But I just wanted a good view for when they strip! Are they gonna all go at once, or one at a time?" Spike looked pleased with the notion of the party's entertainment, ignoring the way the ball of energy in Wesley's hand sparked and crackled.

"Relax, boys, the entertainment has already been hired," the Host finally spoke. He wasn't sure what the ball of energy would do, but he was fairly sure that sort of nonsense shouldn't start so soon. Even if Xander *had* given him a down-payment on damages.

The trio of terror stopped bristling quite so much, as most of the people on the dance floor turned to look at the Host with interest. Well, it *was* about that time. All the girls were gone, Spike was getting bored and horny-- not that he wasn't most of the time, but he usually had Xander at his disposal to take care of it. Since the point of the bachelor party was to make the groom, or in this case grooms, the center of attention, having them spend the evening making out in a quiet corner wasn't exactly anybody's idea of a good time. Except Spike and Xander's, and what did they know-- they were just the grooms.

So-- time for the beginning of the entertaining distractions. Or distracting entertainment. Or *something* which would get everyone facing the same direction, and less likely to try to entertain each other before they'd had a chance to get really liquored up.

The Host sent Eduardo into the back, to let the entertainment know it was time. Meanwhile, he set about making sure everyone *was* getting liquored up, properly. Wouldn't do for anyone -- except those forbidden it, of course -- to not be drunk enough to get really silly.

He made his way around the tables, stopping to listen to the conversation. Flirt a little here, call a waiter over to touch up someone's drink there. Make sure the demons and the humans who were unfamiliar with the place and with each other understood the rules: if any fights broke out in here tonight, they had better be food fights.

The Host was familiar enough with Angel and the Zoobilee Zoo he referred to as his family to expect foodstuffs to fly at some point during the night. That was part of the reason for the extra large cleaning deposit. Pretzels, beernuts, and jujubes were provided at every table, in an attempt to get them to use easily sweepable materials, but he knew there would always be some creative yahoo who would decide to conjure watermelons or moo goo gui pan to throw. Plus there would be cake, eventually.

"Everybody having a good time back here?" he asked at David Nabbit's table. The software tycoon had spread out a deck of twentieth edition Magic, the Gathering cards on the tablecloth, and was deep in the middle of explaining the game to the nondescript young man who sat across from him. There were nods, though the Host knew they had only barely heard him. That was fine with him -- the more distracted ones would probably not cause as much trouble.

Unless David was keeping some of the Magic rules to himself, in which case young non-descript might raise a ruckus. The Host gave the man another glance, and wondered if he'd get up on the stage tonight. He had the hint of someone who had some stage experience, and carried himself well.

The Host moved on to where Xander and Spike were trying to behave -- and the Host gave them each a mental brownie point for the effort. He stopped by Xander's chair and asked, "Get you a refill? Of soda, thanks, I can tell time."

Spike glowered at him. "Tell me why we're doing this, again?" Still humming under his breath, though now he'd at least moved on to 'Strawberry Fields Forever'. It didn't take the Host's particular talents to read *his* mind, however. It was written all over his face. Want to shag, want to shag now, why are all these people keeping me from shagging.

"Theoretically, you're doing it because it's traditional to give the groom one last night of drunken debauchery before he settles down to a sedate life with the little wife," the Host said with a wink at Xander.

"Yeah, but we're both grooms, there's no little wife, and we're not allowed to get drunk or debauched. So I ask again, why are we doing this?" Spike sounded very, very reasonable, and the Host wondered if perhaps, just once, he'd misjudged the vampire.

He dropped his defensive shields, and listened in: Want to shag, Want to shag now, why are all these people keeping me from shagging.

No, of course he hadn't misjudged anything. Why had he expected any different? Except that then there was a flash of Xander's hands holding Spike's, and the image of Xander smiling, in Spike's head.

Spike gave the Host a look, and there was very little of the perpetually-horny demon in it-- just for a moment. Then the lascivious grin was back in place, and he was once again thinking mostly in euphemisms for sex.

"You're doing this because Cordelia told you to," the Host answered with a grin of his own. "And when she says jump, you say--"

"Bite me, Cordy?" Xander offered, then looked around to make sure she wasn't anywhere in the vicinity.

The Host grinned, then leaned forward conspiratorially. "Look at it this ways, ducks. You're sober. They aren't. Imagine what you'll remember tomorrow that you can blackmail them with."

Spike's eyes grew wide, and he turned to Xander. "Would that count as irrevocably evil?"

Xander looked thoughtful. "I suppose...it depends on if Angel does the table dance."

"If he does, then it's not irrevocably evil of us to mention it?"

"If he does, I'd consider it our duty to mention it. As concerned loved ones."

The Host smiled, and patted Spike's knee before heading off again. Their spirits would certainly be high, the rest of the night.

Devon, too, would most likely be high the rest of the night. As long as he hadn't brought anything illegal through the doors, the Host didn't particularly care what the lead singer for Dingoes Ate My Baby had consumed before he stepped inside. As long as he behaved himself, or behaved at least as well as the other guests. The cheerfully stoned man was trying to balance a beer bottle on his nose at the moment, to the amusement of his bandmates.

The Host cast a glance at the stage, just in time to see Eduardo give him the thumbs-up signal from offstage left. He nodded, then made his way up to the stage. "Okay, guys and... guys, it looks like the entertainment is about to begin. Xander, Spike, put your hands where we can see them. Everybody else, relax, drink up, and enjoy the show."

It took several minutes for everything to comply with his request -- as he'd expected. The Host repeated the announcement after a bit, then finally the noise level died down a tiny bit, and everyone seemed to be facing his way. He glanced around at the crowd -- someone was singing "Hey, La, Hey La, my boyfriend's back" but he missed most of the image that accompanied it.

Something about toads and cheese. It was just as well. He smiled at the waiting crowd. "All right, everyone. Let's give a warm welcome to...Xslxgxx!"

There were murmurings of confusion from a few of the humans--some of them trying to repeat the name and failing miserably-- and scattered cheers from various demons who had obviously heard of, perhaps seen, Xslxgxx, before. Then there was silence as the entertainment actually stepped on stage.

Eight foot three of pure blue muscle, and just let anybody try to call him a Smurf out loud. Spike was very obviously considering it, but he got his hand smacked sharply before he could open his lips. Which might have broken Cordelia's rule number seven, the prohibition against general foreplay, but the Host wasn't going to tell on them if no one else did.

There was nothing smurfy about this guy, anyway. Nothing remotely smurfy about eight foot three of pure blue muscle in a professionally-fitted tuxedo. Especially once the music started.

The whistles and catcalls began immediately as he began to move. Gyrating to the music, he moved across the stage as if he'd been born to it. Or hatched, or spawned. The Host wasn't entirely sure of the demon's origins and honestly, didn't care. He was popular with the "see 'em strip" crowd, and always got great tips. Everyone was even more or less still behaving, focused on the dancer as he began to lose parts of his outfit. There was a short scuffle near the CharlesWesleyAngel table, but it was quickly resolved without his intervention.

On the other side of the room, Spike and Xander were watching with great interest -- though the Host saw Spike leering at Xander as often as he leered at Xslxgxx. There was a certain lack of logic in a bachelor party where both parties were present. Since neither of them particularly *wanted* to have a last wild night of sexual abandon with anybody but each other--although Spike was the type to not particularly care if any number of other people joined in--the party really seemed to be about giving everyone *else* a good time, and generally torturing Spike and Xander.

Which, hey, sounded good to the Host. After all, those two had done more damage to the place with one night of strip lasertag last year than had ever happened in any bar brawl.

A little riff of 'Send in the Clowns' hummed from offstage left-- the signal that something was up backstage. Oh, good. The first of the night's many pitfalls. Always best to start early. Not that it would get them over with any quicker, but it would put him in the right frame of mind to deal with them. He ducked behind the curtain and headed for the Green Room.

"Wrgu afur edkd slkgie!" was being shouted from behind the door. The Host rolled his eyes. Stage fright? Ridiculous.

The Host knocked on the door and called out cheerfully, "Hello? Are we having a fit or can I just get you another bottle of paint thinner?"

Two of the dancer's four eyes turned to him. "Humans! No one said anything about humans in the audience!" Rufu folded two of his arms in front of himself. "I *won't* perform for humans, I won't and that's final!"

"The amount of money you're being paid, I'd expect you to perform for fire ants," the Host muttered under his breath, then gave the dancer a cheery smile. "Honey, those humans out there are celebrating the wedding of a human and a *vampire*. We're not exactly talking Joe Yokel here."

Rufu turned to him, aghast. "Wait, one of the *grooms* is human?"

The Host blinked. "Well, on any given day, it's hard to remember which one of them's the demon, but yes. Xander's technically human."

Rufu sputtered for a bit, possibly in his own language but it was rather hard to tell, when his second, longer tongue kept slipping out of his mouth. The Host and Eduardo waited patiently. Finally Rufu calmed down enough to speak coherently. "I refuse. It is in my contract--"

"Which we didn't sign," the Host pointed out. As if he was going to go around signing contracts with Telescu Demons. Sure, you thought you were hiring a performer, then the sun rose, the invisible ink appeared, and you'd just signed your firstborn and his income in perpetuity over to some fine arts foundation or other. He'd dealt with them before. They signed *his* contract, with *his* pen, or nobody signed anything.

The Telescu sniffed through three of his five nostrils. "It was an *implied* contract."

Right, he'd had just about enough of this particular Prima Donna. "Look, sweetie. I don't care if you dance or you walk. But if you walk, you don't get paid. And do you know who that *human* groom happens to be? The editor of _Demon Lovers_. So you might think about what you're passing up if you *don't* strut your stuff in front of him."

There was a blink. Then another blink. Two more blinks, and Rufu said, "I'm going to be discovered?"

The Host carefully controlled his laugh. "Not if you don't go out there, hot stuff." He actually had booked this dancer for almost that very reason -- but mostly just because he was good enough and attractive enough to entertain his guests. *That* was what really mattered. If Xander decided he liked what he saw, then bonus points for him.

The Host wasn't entirely sure Xander would *know* if he liked what he saw, but he wasn't going to share that piece of information with the Telescu.

The music from the stage stopped, and sure enough, Rufu hurried to take his place on stage. Xslxgxx strode past the Host with a big smile, and an even bigger collection of tips stiffed in his G-string. Maybe things wouldn't go to hell early after all.

Back to the main floor, then, to mingle again, and watch from a better vantage point than backstage.

At Angel's table, there was general drooling in the direction of the stage. Rufu had captivated the entire triad so completely that none of them were getting growly over the others' interest in the sensuous movements of the dancer.

The Host admitted, privately, that he thought Telescu demons always looked sexier when they were frantically trying to stomp ants climbing up their legs. Something about the full body rhythm they never did duplicate when 'dancing'. But everyone else seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps it was the many arms, and the many eyes, all adding to the allure.

Or possibly it was the two sets of genitals, hidden underneath the g-strings.

The Host spared a moment to glance at Spike and Xander-- who were watching the dancer with polite disinterest. Nothing like the appreciation they had both shown for Xslxgxx. It rather looked like poor Rufu wasn't going to be getting his own line of videos any time soon. The Host scanned the crowd again, looking out for trouble-- or fun. A flash of yellow at the back of the room, and he smiled, recognizing an old friend.

"Hey, Morrie. Haven't seen you around these parts in a while. How's business?" He slipped into a seat, just for a moment, across from the human-sized rubber duck.

"Doing quite well, thank you. Getting in a new item you might be interested in -- massage kit with horn polishing rags and oils." Morrie picked up his drink and held it up to his beak and lapped a few swallows.

"Really?" It was easy enough to find horn polishing kits. But to find one that *Morrie* would carry.... "That bears looking into."

"Comp you one if you'll give that dancer my card. We're thinking of branching out beyond the security camera videos, into a foofy fine-arts line."

The Host inclined his head. "Let's see, free horn massage kit vs. having to put up with Rufu at every private party I host until his Clan decides he's too high-strung to be allowed outside the nest without a nanny... Sold. He's yours as soon as he gets offstage."

The duck waved a wing, dismissing the dancer's theatrical personality. "Eh. Shatner-complexes I can work with any day. Oh-- did I tell you I got the Terrible Trio on film? Being mushy?"

The Host turned very slowly towards Morrie. He blinked once, then considered if he needed to ask his friend to hum a few bars, or if he'd accept the fact that Morrie would *never* lie about sex vids. Or sexy vids. "Let me get my credit card."

Morrie laughed, and waved a wing. "Don't bother, we got it on file. I'll send one over -- I'm telling ya, one of the most popular tapes we've had come out since *those* two got caught in the supply room." Morrie nodded towards the grooms, who were now not even bothering to look politely disinterested. Instead, they looked extremely interested -- in each other.

"Yeah, I've got that one. I suspect half the people in this room have that one." It was essentially a G-rated video: Spike and Xander sitting in the supply closet, *quite* drunk, fully clothed, leaning against each other and singing 'I've Got You, Babe.' One of the few musical moments of Spike's that the Host actually *wished* he had been present for, because the looks on their faces... were absolutely nothing like the looks on their faces right now.

He rose. "Excuse me-- I think I need to keep the happy couple from getting too happy, too early."

Morrie nodded, and turned back to watch Rufu, an appreciative and calculating expression on his face. As the Host wended his way through the crowd, he saw someone else doing the same thing -- with the same purpose in mind. He stopped to watch -- hiding a smile when Rupert simply whapped Xander on the back of the head and kept going.

There were two annoyed "hey!"s, then the happy couple was too busy glowering to get immediately back into their incipient heavy petting. The Host realized that he'd better get the party moving forward again, if they were going to keep Spike and Xander from sneaking off to use the couch in his office.

Perhaps it was time for the movie.

The equipment was already set up-- all that was needed was a quick snap of the fingers to Eduardo, and the curtain was rising to reveal the large projection screen.

"Okay, folks, let give Rufu here a big hand... or several..." Pause for applause ranging from polite to exuberant, then off with Rufu and on with the charm. "And now, what bachelor party would be complete without the traditional stag film? Thoughtfully put together for us by Anne at the home office of Scooby Enterprises, and I believe you can either buy direct, or Morrie's has a limited stock."

Oohs, ahhs, and shiftings in seats, as the locals and worldly-wise who were familiar with Morrie's selection grinned in anticipation. The Host moved quickly to his seat at the bar -- he could see the room, *and* the movie. He'd already seen it, screening for the party, and had his own private copy at home. But he still wouldn't miss the public showing, for anything.

*****