Wedding Night by Celli Lane Feedback: Positive or negative both welcome. celli@fanfic101.com Category: Smut, humor, futurefic. Rating: R for nn-explicit sex. Pairing: *cough* Vaughn/Francie. Put those pitchforks down! Also implied S/V and S/W, and emphatically denied Wancie. *g* Spoilers: Nothing specific. Summary: "The problem with being best man at a wedding is that you never get a chance to prove it." --Unknown Archiving: Cover Me and my site (www.fanfic101.com); otherwise please ask. Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC, and various other people with lawyers. Sadly, this means that I do not own Vaughn or his tux, although I have a great recipe for pigs-in-a-blanket if you'd like.... So many people helped with such a small story! :) Thank you all: Diana, Robin, Gail, JenC, Jenai, and the Horsechicks. For Amanda.

we've got these chains that hang around our necks
people want to strangle us with them
before we take our first breath...

"Francie."

She looked up and even managed a half-smile. "No more champagne for me, thanks."

"I got some orange juice from the guy making the mimosas. " Michael--she was trying not to think of him by his last name, even if everyone except his mother seemed to call him Vaughn--set a glass in front of her and hooked his foot around a nearby chair. "Here, there's some of those little pigs with blanket things too."

"Pigs in blanket things, I believe, is the correct term." Francie picked one up and considered it dubiously. "Did I look exceptionally hungry?"

"Well, unless you and Sydney were hiding snacks in her veil, you haven't eaten all day. And it's one of the best man's jobs to keep the maid of honor from passing out. I read that somewhere."

"I'm not going to pass out. I may fall asleep, but that's a different story."

"Is that why you're back here? So no one will hear you snore?"

"No, I'm here because I'm tired of smiling."

"Christ, so am I. Every time I looked less than orgasmic up there," he jerked his head in the direction of the head table, "people would send Meaningful Glances in Will's direction."

She choked on a mini hot dog. "You--I--oh," she concluded lamely.

He laughed, and not for the first time that evening, Francie noticed the edge in it. "Tell me you weren't leaning in my direction when they got to the 'objection' part in church. Everyone else was."

"Sorry," she said. She reached for the orange juice--why had she talked Will out of putting beer on the menu selection for the evening? "I was too busy biting my own tongue."

"You were? Do I need to send a Meaningful Glance in Will's direction?"

"What?" It took a minute to work it out, then she snickered. "Will? How many mimosas have you had, Mr. Vaughn? Will. Heh."

"Then why...?"

"Because they're...look at them." Francie had to lean until she was practically across Michael's lap before she could see them enough to point. "They're so...cute. And perky. And normal. I give it six months. Unless they decide to have a baby or something, in which case I give it a few years and massive therapy bills."

Michael followed her pointing figure to the seemingly joyous couple on the dance floor. Will was attempting to talk with his hands while still keep them around Sydney's waist, while she was laughing up at him. "They look, well, cute. But good cute. Married cute."

"Yes, but you've been wearing Not Bitter like a hat for a year. Sydney might look cute, but she is not, at heart, a cute person. She is a dangerous, reckless spy-type person. And Will is an adrenaline junkie, although not quite as bad as her. They're both so determined to not be their darker selves that it's stupid. They'll bore each other to death. I swear to God."

She looked him in the eye to emphasize her sincerity and realized that she was a lot closer to his eyes than she'd ever been before. As she stared, leaned forward unthinkingly, bringing her chest into contact with his.

"So...ah...give it some time, and you can have a shot at her again," she said over the buzzing in her ears.

"I don't want a shot at her."

"You don't?"

"Nope." He pushed her back into her own chair, and her heart fell until he stood and offered her a hand. "I want to dance with the funniest girl here."

"You do? I mean, oh."

afraid of change, afraid of staying the same,
when temptation calls, we just look away...

The snick of her keycard in the lock seemed to echo down the hall. Francie half expected Syd and Will to pop out of the honeymoon suite--which was three floors up, so popping would be hard--and do, well, something that would embarrass them. But no one appeared; no shots rang out, no alarms went off except the ones in her head. She tightened her grip on Michael's hand and led him into the room.

It was a pretty room, with cream walls, floral patterned drapes and linens, and--hell, who cared how it looked? All that mattered was the queen size bed in the middle of the room and the fact that she'd picked up before the wedding, thank God, so none of her underwear was hanging from a lamp or anything.

Yet. She felt the smile tugging at her lips as she looked up. "So, we're really gonna do this, huh?"

"I think so." He ran one long finger down her forehead and nose, dropped it to her lips when she did smile. "Not as childhood friends and cast-off lovers. Not as the wedding party or the Greek chorus. Just as...us. Francine."

She narrowed her eyes at the sound of her full first name.

"What? I am a spy, you know."

"Hah. Even I--the only member of this wedding to have never been on the CIA's payroll--am not that gullible. You saw it when you signed the marriage license."

"Guilty," he said, and as her hair tumbled down to brush her neck, she realized that his other hand had been undoing her braid. "Come here, Francine."

His lips were thin but soft, and when he licked her upper lip she leaned into his body and his mouth. He was a more playful kisser than she'd expected. By the time he was done teasing around the edges and really, really kissed her, the humor was still there but so was the breathlessness, the arousal that had blindsided her sometime between the moment he offered his toast to the happy couple with a wink in her direction and the offer of non-mimosas and pigs with blankets.

"Michael," she murmured as she kissed her way to his ear. His stubble was rough, and she pressed her cheek into it. She wanted his skin imprinted on hers. She wanted to be inside it, and if she couldn't she'd settle for being on the better side of that tuxedo. She brought her mouth back to his. Her hands slid up the front of his jacket to worry at the knot on his bow tie. Suddenly, she could feel the back of her dress gape. "Oh...clever hands."

"Mine?" He brought them around until they were between their bodies, tracing the laced edge of her neckline with the backs of his fingers. He held them palm-up. "My hands?"

"Yes, dammit," she said on a half-laugh. The tie gave way under her unsteady fingers, and she tossed it over her shoulder. "Now put them back on me."

"Whatever you say, ma'am." He shrugged out of his jacket. "Turn around."

Francie obeyed. The burgundy satin slid down into an uninteresting heap as Michael's mouth did wicked and interesting things to the back of her neck. Her bra came next, and she let out a moan that was more relief than sex when it followed the dress.

"Too tight?" Michael asked as he traced the impression it had made in her back.

"You have no idea."

"Let me make it better." And then his hands were in front, massaging the ache away while creating an entirely different and much more delightful one.

Francie sagged back against him. "Oh, God." She raised her hands to cover his. "God..." His mouth was on her shoulder now, biting gently, and she hoped he left marks. She'd have them bronzed in the morning. "Why, um, why are you still dressed?"

"Because it's a better view this way."

"Huh?" She looked up to see the closet door across the room. The mirrored closet door. "*Oh.*"

Her hair was a tangled mess. Michael's face was only partly visible behind it, but she could see the lazy smile. In the low light, the sweat on her skin glowed. The only contrast on her dark skin was the cream of her half-slip and the white of Michael's hands, and both looked damn good on her. She smiled back at his reflection and stood up straighter to watch him kneel and remove the rest of her clothes.

He was right. It was a better view. Even if it was a little blurry around the edges as he nudged her legs open wider. "You're beautiful," he said against her hip. "Beautiful, Francie."

"Mmm..." she said, fascinated by the play of his fingers on her stomach. "Keep that up and you won't even have to touch me to make me come."

A sudden twist of his hands, and she was facing him--well, she was looking down at him, but he was definitely facing her. "Oh, can't I do both?" he asked. He sucked on the skin right below her bellybutton. "Please, Francie?"

"Well," she said, "if you insist." She laughed down at him once, then dug her nails into his shoulders and just felt.

She was going to have to do some insisting of her own, in a while. Quite a while.

bear it with me, bear with me, bear with me,
be with me tonight...

--the end--

Lyrics are from the Barenaked Ladies song "What a Good Boy."

Photos from www.abc.com and used without permission.

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