Everyone turned. There was a small group of hat-wearing, mustachioed newcomers, barring Spike and Xander's escape. Cordelia was the one who had stopped them. Spike was still trying to gnaw his way through Xander's shoulder; Xander was giving his ex-girlfriend a befuddled look. Or perhaps it was what Spike was doing to his shoulder.

The Host started casually heading that way, in case things got weird.

Er. Weirder.

"Oi! No women allowed!" Spike was still nibbling away, so it actually came out "Ouugh. Mo woooom aooood!" but everybody managed to translate fairly well. They were used to trying to understand what Spike was talking about through a mouthful of some Xander-part or other. They were used to trying to understand what Spike was talking about, period.

"There's no women here," Willow said unconvincingly.

"Yeah. Just, um, men. Big, manly men," from her wife, whose mustache was slipping off.

"Yes," said the fourth newcomer, possibly the most plainly *not* a man of all of them. "We're all exceptionally masculine, virile men who like to watch televised sporting events, drink beer, and scratch in public. So when does the spanking contest start?"

There was utter silence, except for a very clearly muttered obscenity. Then, "There is *not* a spanking contest! Where the bloody hell did you hear about th-- that is, why would you think there was a spanking contest?" Rupert was coming over, trying to glare sternly at the disguised women, and at the same time look properly un-stern whenever his gaze met Anya's.

"We're having the spanking contest?" Spike asked. "You didn't tell me!" he added gleefully.

"We are *not*--" Rupert began.

"I was told there was a spanking contest," Anya interrupted. "And that you were judging."

Dozens of eyes were suddenly focused on Rupert. Who sighed. "I am not judging anything. I *am*, however, going to get another drink while Spike and Xander sneak off to have sex."

"Well, we can't bloody sneak off now that you've told everybody that's what we're planning to do, can we," Spike asked grouchily, just as if everyone hadn't known that was what they were planning on doing from the minute they came in the door tonight. "'Sides, I think you keep goin' back on your promises to my boy here. He says you told him you'd spank 'im, and you didn't. Now you're backin' out of judgin' the contest? Some father figure you are."

Rupert muttered something extremely rude-- something in Boggart, or possibly Phooka. That man *did* get around. "Well, I'd hardly turn my *back* on judging such a contest, knowing you lot. Backing away is really the only option."

Anya, however, was momentarily taken aback. "You were going to spank *Xander*?"

"I am *not* going to spank Xander. I was *never* going to spank Xander," Rupert explained carefully. "Though if the mere thought irritates you, you are free to spank me."

Anya blinked, and smiled happily.

Others in the room giggled -- and yet others backed away, saying "No, no, bad! Please, need beer!"

Rupert smirked. Then he caught Spike and Xander glare-pouting at him. "What?"

"You're not gonna spank me?" Xander pouted harder.

Someone, somewhere in the room -- and the Host thought it sounded an awful lot like the disguised voice of Ethan Rayne-- began the chanting. "Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank!"

"I am *not* going to spank Xander!" Rupert shouted.

"Oh, I don't mind, really," Anya said. "It's purely an expression of a repressed reverse-Oedipus complex, sublimated into pesudo-paternalistic adult behavior. I'm not at all threatened. Besides, it would be yummy."

"Yes, we don't mind at all," echoed her companions, in various still-lowered voices. And the chanting continued.

"I repeat, I am not, nor was I ever, going to spank Xander. I'm not going to spank anyone, except possibly you." This to Anya, who gave him an unreadable stare. He quickly added, "If you like."

"Now?" she asked eagerly.

He slapped a hand to his forehead. "No, not now. It would be completely inappropriate."

"Well, then, you might as well spank Xander," Cordelia pointed out gruffly.

"Or me!" echoed from the other end of the room, in Ethan's *un*-disguised voice. When the Host turned to look for him, however, that corner was completely empty.

Giles gave the empty corner a hard stare, then turned back to Anya. *Very* patiently, over the chanting that hadn't remotely died down, he explained, "If Xander wants to be spanked, I'm sure Spike can do it perfectly well."

"But Xander wants you to spank him. Er, no, wait, you're right, we *have* got this all confused." Any relief Rupert might have felt was destroyed by Spike's next words. "This was about Xander and Angel each spanking you." Spike's voice had turned thoughtful.

There was an undignified, un-Sirelike squeak. "I *what*?!?"

"I am *not*," Rupert began again, but it was clear to the Host that nobody was really listening to him.

"You didn't tell us you wanted to spank G-man," Gunn was saying. The Host heard a humming, something innocent-me sounding -- and got a *very* interesting picture. Apparently someone wasn't nearly as blameless as he made out to be. The Host wondered if it would be worth it to trade what he owed Wesley for the last month's darts games bets, in exchange for *not* tattling on him.

He usually didn't share other people's secrets, not unless there was a good reason. The Host owed Wesley over $400 -- that was good enough reason to tell Angel that his 'owner' had been the one to help Xander set up the spanking event.

"I don't!" Angel was protesting. "I mean, I've never even thought..." But he was now. The Host could read it on his face, no need, thank God, for the Tone-deaf Wonder to actually sing anything. He shook his head, visibly trying to change the subject, deflecting the attention of anybody who was studying his expression. "Who said I wanted to... ah... do anything to Giles?"

Spike cocked his head innocently. He and Xander were the only ones in the room besides the Host and the staff who weren't wearing hats-- grooms' immunity to silly rules thought up by the grooms in the first place -- and so nothing fell off his head except a beer-nut that someone had tossed there.

"Nah, the contest was just to see who spanks better, you or Xan," Spike explained helpfully.

"Oo, so we should have them each spank two or three people, so we can get a vote," Willow said eagerly. Eagerly enough that Rupert gave her a frightened look. She looked around the crowded room. "In fact, we could probably have *everyone*--" That was as far as she got.

People were standing up and re-arranging tables and chairs.

Angel was saying "No, I'm *not* going to spank anyone," but apparently everyone was ignoring him. Everyone except Wesley, who was rather innocently saying, "May I be first?"

Someone was pushing open the front door. The Host blinked-- he'd thought all the guests --even the uninvited, but frankly pretty much expected ones-- had arrived. Giving a nod to Eduardo and Mickey to keep the free-for-all under control, he moved to greet the latecomer.

Oh. This could be fun. A genial, elderly man in a trilby stood inside the doorway. When he politely took off his hat, the Host recognized him-- the man in the film, who'd threatened Xander with the release of even more embarrassing footage, and been whapped by his wife in response.

"Hello. Have I... come to the right place? I'm looking for the Xander Harris bachelor party."

"Grandpa?" Xander was staring at the elderly man, and the Host wondered if Xander even noticed where Spike's hand was. Then Xander jumped forward and headed through the crowd. "Grandpa?"

His grandfather smiled, and when Xander reached him, gave him a hug. "Your grandmother told me I needn't bother coming -- said something about me not needing this much excitement. I assured her if I had any heart attacks, I'd call. So, er, have I missed all the fun?" He looked around the crowd, and blinked slowly. "Xander? Is that gentleman wearing feathers?"

Xander glanced over. "No, well, yes, but he wears them all the time. Grandpa, why don't you come sit down? Morrie, could you--"

The Host decided it was time to intervene. He sent Eduardo over with a shot of scotch. One or two of those, then *he'd* go over and say hi. Angel was still being bombarded with "Me next" requests, and still protesting that there wasn't going to *be* a next, because there wasn't going to be a first. The chanting had died down, but at Angel's loud, "I said *no*!", it rose in volume again.

'Who on earth said I was going to do this in the first place?" Angel groaned. Rupert, a sadistic, Ripperish gleam in his eye, pointed straight at Wesley. There went 400 dollars, the Host thought sadly.

"You don't think I *spank* hard enough?" Angel asked Wesley, the tone at first incredulous, then turning oddly stern at the end. Oddly stern, that is, for somebody who was widely known to be wrapped around the ink-smudged little finger of the man to whom he was being stern.

"Xander did it!" Was the immediate response. Then Wesley composed himself a bit, and said, "Spike said Xander spanks better than you. I was only trying to defend your reputation."

"You were, were you? Defending my honour?" Angel still sounded remarkably austere and the Host was astounded to see Wesley wilt, just a little. But he was smiling, too.

"I couldn't let it be said, without being fair about it."

Angel was facing down Wesley, and they were both being watched closely by Gunn -- and a handful of others. The Host wondered if they shouldn't have had the bachelor party at Morrie's, after all. The thing was degenerating into an orgy, after all.

"I have paddles in my truck," Morrie suggested, appearing at the Host's side.

"You realize you're not helping." The Host scowled at his old acquaintance and sometime business partner.

"Hey, I'm just trying to add to the party atmosphere," Morrie defended. "Besides, if those two have to spank everybody in the *room*, they'll hurt their hands unless they use paddles."

"The idea is for this *not* to turn into a multi-species spanking orgy," the Host replied tiredly. Hell, the idea was that he was going to grow up to play Mr. Mephistopheles in 'Cats' too, according to his mother, but that one hadn't panned out either.

Morrie gave him a bill-tilted stare. The fact that he was wearing a bishop's miter didn't make him look any less ridiculous. "Um... why?"

"Because the cleaning crew charges me double, and takes twice as long, and afterwards I have to air out the place for 48 hours before vampires, Drogans, or sLuthu demons will patronize the place after humans have participated in an orgy in here -- and that makes up 40% of my weekend clientele."

Morrie tilted his head. "We could segregate by species, if that'll help?"

The Host closed his eyes. His first instinct when Xander had asked if they could have the bachelor party here, had been to say "Sorry, we'll be closed all year." He should have gone with that instinct. "Maybe if you brought out the rest of the entertainment, it would distract them?"

Morrie blinked at him. "I was supposed to bring the rest of the entertainment? I thought *you* were providing it."

Oh, God. Any of them. Take your pick. The Host sighed, then said through clenched teeth, "Cake? Large, chocolate? Raspberry filling? Hollow inside for somebody to jump out of?"

"Oh, *that*. Yeah, it's out back. But the filling's not here yet."

"The raspberry filling?"

"No, the part that jumps out."

Arrgh. The Host glared at him, then made his way to the stage. "Look, fascinating as this impromptu insanity might be..." he said into the microphone. No one was listening. "Gentlemen? Ladies? Persons of indeterminate gender?"

Nothing. They were still beseeching Angel. Xander was trying to convince his grandfather that he really *had* come to the right party. No heart attack seemed imminent, but the old fellow was blinking confusedly at several of the more colorful and.. er.. horny, guests. He was also on his third cocktail.

"If there's going to be spanking, we need everyone to line up. Both sides of the room, please." The Host blinked as he heard the words that had come out of his mouth.

People were listening now, though, and hastily making two rows -- asses outward. The Host saw Morrie in line, and wondered if either Angel or Xander knew how to spank a large duck.

Angel, however, was stalking towards the Host with an Angelusic glare on his face. The Host smiled. "Would you believe me if I said I had no idea why I just said that?"

"Let me think about it for a minute. No."

The Host smiled a little more forcefully. "That wasn't a minute."

"I'm a fast thinker."

My, wasn't Angel a *large* vampire. "You do remember this is a Safety Zone, right?"

Angel wouldn't beat him up. After all, Angel got all kinds of help from him. Solutions to his most pressing problems. Spiritual advice. Free drinks and fashion tips. Of course Angel also still owed him for that time last month when he'd made the vampire sing 'Weekend In New England,' twice, just to find out something the Host had discovered written on a discarded cocktail napkin... 'No, sorry, I didn't quite get anything. I'm afraid you'll have to give us an encore...'

All right, so maybe he should start looking for help from Angel's keeper. Who was currently standing in line with the others.

Aha. The Host spotted a way out and smiled, easily. "Don't worry, tall dark and fearsome." He lowered his voice to avoid a riot. "We can't have a contest anyhow, since Spike and Xander have absconded with each other."

Angel gave him a distrustful look, but glanced over his shoulder. True enough, Spike and Xander were nowhere to be seen. There were, however, four distinctly un-male backsides at one end of the line.

Angel took the stage. "Ahem," into the microphone.

Heads looked across over shoulders-- since they'd started worrying about arranging themselves, the noise had died down, and the sound of Angel's voice got *everyone's* attention.

"There will be *no* spanking tonight. At least until you leave the building. Any arrangements you make on your own are your business. Meaning I don't want to hear them."

There were indignant groans, then, after a scramble that made an English football game look orderly, the stage was pelted with peanuts. Jujubes. Foil-wrapped condoms. All expected at some point during the night, but the mutinous rumblings from the floor threatened to break out into a riot, which was *not*.

Which Angel cleverly redirected away from himself. "Does anyone know where Xander and Spike are?" He almost sounded like he didn't know perfectly well where they were.

But the other guests started looking around, and the mutinous rumbling became indignant 'hey, if we can't get sex, why should *they*?'

People began heading for doors -- bathrooms, supply closet, and looking behind the bar. No one headed for the Host's office, because the Host had his office hidden upstairs and very few people knew where the staircase was.

The Host finally intervened, when the short search began to prove fruitless. "All right, all right, everyone calm down. I think I know where they are. I'll go fetch them, then we'll bring out the cake." He shot a look at Morrie, which said there had better be *someone* filling the cake by the time he returned.

Or a large yellow duck was going to be jumping out. Followed by a retelling of the story of How Morrie Got Turned Into A Large Yellow Duck In The First Place.

The Host slipped through the crowd, who were mostly distracted by Angel's helpful, if not tuneful, a capello rendition of "Second-Hand Rose." Help. He'd segued from Manilow to Streisand. The world would never be the same. And, as he climbed the stairs to his office, the Host shook his head, trying to clear it of the images in Angel's. Images of what was going to happen to Wesley tonight after they all got home. He would feel sorry for the poor guy, if he hadn't seen the look on Wesley's face when he'd asked "May I go first, please?"

Staring at his office door, he debated whether to knock. It *was* his office. He *had* seen the two of them in numerous positions previously, he being one of the trusted few who was *almost* family. It came down, basically, to 'How much is it going to turn me on to walk in on two insane naked men in my office, doing things I'm not sure if I'm going to get to do tonight, since I don't have an official date for the evening?'

He knocked.

There was no reply. He counted to ten, and knocked again.

"Bugger off!"

The Host sighed. "Xander, I thought you'd like to know the mob is getting restless. Two minutes and get your tails back downstairs or I'll let Angel know where you are."

Silence for a moment, then he heard Xander saying, "Hurry, Spike!"

The Host decided he didn't want to think about why Spike wasn't the one yelling at him, and stood in the hallway counting to sixty, twice. He was at his second fifty-eight when the door opened to reveal Xander tucking his shirt back into his jeans, and Spike happily licking his lips. So much for being able to not think about it. "Don't you *dare* sing," he warned them both. "Not a note, not a breath, not an 'excuse me, I was just clearing my throat'."

They looked at each other. They looked at him. Why had he put the idea into their heads? The Host was suddenly sure that both of them had been the kind of children who, if warned not to put beans up their noses, would immediately find an opportunity to do so, though the concept had never previously entered their infant minds. He covered his ears, as if it would do any good.

"Why do we always come here," they sang together, though hardly in unison, since Spike was actually in tune, and Xander changed keys at least three times during the first line. "I guess we'll never know. It's like some kind of torture, to have to watch the show..."

Yes, it was, as a matter of fact. The Host did his best to give them a completely flat, not remotely mind-blown, look. "Okay, Statler and Waldorf. Get your tight little asses downstairs before I call Angel-- and tell him just whose idea the whole spanking thing was in the first place. Right now he pretty much only suspects Wesley."

"Duh, since Ripper *told* him it was Wes, and Angel never suspects *him* of lying." Spike looked unimpressed.

"Besides, if he gets mad at us, he might spank us." Xander grinned. The Host decided that tomorrow might be a good day to start his vacation. Someplace far away where no one knew him, and he could seduce co-eds and reenact everything he'd seen in people's heads tonight.

"Downstairs, now," he told them again. He pointed, and they actually shuffled off, like scolded schoolboys. It made him wonder if they were hoping *he'd* -- no, not going there, he told himself.

They made it downstairs just in time to see Eduardo and Mickey wheeling the cake in, being directed by the flapping of Morrie's wings. "Yeah, right about there, boys. Everybody ready for the grand finale?"

Cheers and catcalls from the audience, and Xander and Spike slipped into their seats-of-honor--- two chairs pulled out and set in the middle of the open dancefloor, about five feet away from the cake.

"Right, cue the music," Morrie shouted, and from the sound system came the unmistakable sound of cellos, swirling up into a mad crescendo before the voices came in.

"If you want to know how to fly high then go now to the place where all the concubines meet..."

Spike's eyes widened, and he looked at Xander uncertainly. Xander just shrugged and nudged him to watch the cake. But Spike shifted in his seat, and the Host shot a suspicious look at Morrie. Morrie looked as guileless as a duck could look.

"Oh, god," the Host breathed. He didn't want to know. Except he had to, had to stay and be the Host, keep charge of his guests and not go run and hide.

The top of the cake was pushed outward, and a figure slowly rose. Spike eeped. Xander eeped. There were a few other noises scattered here and there as the woman rose from the cake, fully dressed in a velvet and lace dress, her hair swept up in a large golden clasp.

Drusilla licked something red off her hand -- possibly raspberry filling -- then held it out for someone to assist her out of the cake. Xander leapt up and took it, looking a tad surprised. Shell-shocked.

Perhaps, the Host thought, he could ask Dru to get back at them, for tonight, on his behalf.

"Um, weren't you supposed to come over *after* the party?" the Host heard Xander whispering. Drusilla just put a long red fingernail against his lips, and began to dance with him. Moving her slender form partially to the music, and partially to things only she could hear. The Host was glad that she was only dancing, and not singing. Very glad.

"They're dancing, now," she said, still swaying. She moved over to Spike, and stood-swayed before him. "Like pretty flowers, dancing in my head. There must be more, just once. Only once, then it's only fishies for Auntie Dru."

The Host saw a perplexed look on Spike's face that matched the one he felt appear on his own. Fortunately, the Host felt no compulsion to do as Spike was now doing.

"What do you mean, Dru?"

It must be a reflex left over from the century of following her around. That, or Spike had stepped his own insanity level up a notch-- and he was really only a notch and a half below Dru to begin with.

She moved sinuously to the music for a moment, almost, almost humming along with the tune, and the Host held his breath, because sure as Martha Stewart was really a man in drag, he did *not* want to know what was going on in her head-- and she stopped. Leaned over and whispered something in Spike's ear.

Her ex-lover looked up at her, then over at his fiance. Then back at Dru. "Er, could you repeat that?"

She leaned over a second time, and whispered again. This time Spike looked only at Xander. A question, unvoiced and unknown, and Xander nodded.

"Once, once, once," Drusilla was saying, almost too close to singing for the Host's comfort. Why he didn't just walk away and coax David into singing on stage, he wasn't sure. He could use the stock tips. Instead he watched and listened as Dru continued. "Once, only once." She cocked her head, and asked, "One night or one time? I forgot to ask."

She was addressing her question to the far wall, but Xander answered. "One night."

Drusilla smiled. Far too widely. Pointy teeth and pale skin was right. Even Darla hadn't been this creepy. Mostly because she'd been more or less sane, and a hundred percent evil, and Drusilla was something caught between two places, two states of being.

From the look on Spike's face, this was another one of those 'nobody needs to sing *anything*' situations. He kept looking back and forth between Xander and Drusilla, as if he couldn't decide between the chocolate cake or the raspberry filling. Although he'd already chosen the chocolate cake, hadn't he? And now the Host was thinking in pastry metaphors, which meant somebody out there with a sweet tooth was trying to sing along to the music.

He didn't need to overhear anymore from the Newt Twins, anyhow, so he started making his way through the gathered crowd again. The organized festivities were more or less over, and now it was just drinking and talking and singing. He'd go take his usual place near the stage and let those drunk enough to do so, indulge in a little karaoke.

Spike and Xander could slip out unscathed, chances were no one would mind too much -- since there was only one conversation still going about the spanking contest, and it was a rather quiet one involving Angel, Gunn, and Wesley. Another threesome the Host didn't want to hear sing. Some things a demon didn't want to know -- unless he had a date.

The party crashers had made themselves welcome, Anya was with Giles, consoling him over the fact that he still hadn't got out of ever being asked to judge the contest. Willow and Tara were talking to David and Jonathan, and there was a tiny flash of light -- someone was showing someone something.

Buffy was trying to talk to Morrie, while Morrie tried to flirt with Cordelia. Or maybe he was already making passes. Cordelia was looking desperate. Not that she didn't know Morrie-- working for Angel, and with Xander and Spike, you couldn't not know Morrie, or at least who he was, unless you were Wesley-- and wasn't *that* a video the Host would be ordering from Morrie first thing in the morning.

But the Wonder Duck could get a little clingy when he'd had as much poured down his bill as he had tonight, and Cordelia was obviously trying to find a polite way of..er.. ducking out of the conversation. The Host slipped across to the little group, and put an arm around Cordelia. "Hey, cutie-- long-time no throw up on my dancefloor and then faint prettily. How's your half of the vision biz these days?"

Morrie looked like he was about to object, so the Host pointed a long finger at Buffy. "Hey Morrie-- you do realize you're talking to the Slayer, right? *The* Slayer?" Morrie had been wanting to get a vampire/Slayer video going forever, and the prison authorities weren't terribly hot on letting him do any filming with Faith.

Not that Faith hadn't already signed the consent forms and the Host denied any knowledge of any certain vampiresses getting themselves arrested so they could get in close and let certain planted cameras do all the work. But that limited the location, and Morrie had an entire slew of venues he wanted to film.

The Host didn't for a moment think Buffy would agree -- but Morrie was already turning towards her with an entrepreneurial gleam in his eyes. He'd be distracted for a while. Long enough for Cordelia to make her escape and stay escaped.

She was giving him a grateful smile, even now, and the Host returned it. "No charge for the rescue, how about a drink Miss Chase? Or should I say 'Mister'?" Her mustache was perfectly placed, perfectly matched her hair color, and showed no signs of slippage.

Her smile widened slightly, and she let him show her to a table. "Thank you."

After a while, the Host heard someone humming the theme to High Noon, and received a vision of someone strangling a green prescient demon should he annoy the young woman. It was one of the extended Angel family, having noticed that the two of them had been sitting there for a little while, not saying much of anything at all, just smiling. And really-- as if he *would*. Annoy her. Without her permission.

Except that as the party took on its own life, and no longer needed a host, or even a Host, they started to talk about things non-evil-fighting-related, and he wasn't sure that she didn't just give him permission somewhere in there. If he wanted to take it. Perhaps he should make one last check on the party, see if everything was going smoothly, and then maybe he'd find out if they liked the same sort of movies. Or coffee. Or something.

The Host glanced towards the party-goers, saw Xander and Spike over by the door -- slipping out as expected. With Dru.

Not so expected.

He turned back to Cordelia. "I simply *love* the wedding dress -- tails and trunks, it'll be all the rage."

Her eyes brightened, and the Host heard someone new humming. Same song, same threat. For pete's sake, they were just *talking*. So what if she was smiling like that?

Then Cordelia gave him a wink, and twitched her mouth, as if her mustache itched her. Opened that mouth and sang-- something. He wasn't entirely sure what. Just a little bit of something, and he couldn't really concentrate on what it *was, because what was in his head was a bit too complicated. It involved 1. Certain vampires, researchers, or vampire hunters being found naked and painted purple on the lawn of the Hyperion if they interfered in any way with Cordelia actually having a chance at a decent date for once in the entire time she'd spent in this godforsaken city, and not winding up pregnant with demon-spawn or kidnapped or dumped out on the New Jersey turnpike, and
2. the Host being part of said decent date.

He wasn't sure if that was Cordelia's intent, or actual foreknowledge on his part.

And he didn't really care.

the end