This is part of a drabble series challenge over on LiveJournal that I wrote for the prompt of Tudors and Spuffy. Enjoy! *Of course, I own nothing... sadly.*
"I don't know how I let you talk me into this, Spike," Buffy grunted as he tightened the laces on the back of her Tudor-era gown.
"Because it's a Halloween party, Slayer, and you agreed to chaperone so Bit could attend." Threading the cord through the last eyelet, he viciously pulled it as taut as he could, tying it off in an elegant bow. "Wouldn't want to be known as Bloody Mary and spoil all the kiddies fun now, would you?"
Barely able to breathe, she turned to look at the vision she reflected in the full-length mirror. "Who's Bloody Mary?"
Shaking his head in disappointment, the vamp pulled at the hose surrounding his well-muscled calves. "It's a wonder you Yanks made it across the bloody sea," he snorted. "She was King Henry the eighth's first child, at least the first one to make it to adulthood, and she became queen after she had her cousin's head lopped off."
Buffy's jaw dropped. "She killed her own cousin?"
He nodded, continuing. "Plus, she had over three-hundred of her own subjects burnt at the stake for bein' reformers."
"Wow, that was harsh!" she gasped, cringing and trying not to topple over from the weight of the dress. "I mean, I didn't know being a reformed alcoholic during those times was so dangerous."
His laughter echoed in the room as he bent double, the gold chain lying on his shoulders that indicated someone of high office bouncing off the fox-trim of his cloak. "Not reformed alcoholics, luv… Reformers, as in Protestants, or 'reformed' of the old religion."
Narrowing her eyes at his laughing, she tugged on her kirtle so that she could see to put her shoes on. "Just how many religions did they have back then? I thought it was the Dark Ages or something."
Dragging one of the legs of his breeches to the side, Spike tried to shift his hips to alieviate some of the chaffing due to the codpiece. "Well, Mary was a fervent Catholic, her father is credited with startin' the Church of England, her half-sister, Elizabeth, was wisely supportin' what ever religion kept her head atop her body, and the masses were split between Catholic and Protestant."
"I think I'd probably side with Elizabeth in this case," she said. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she promptly sprang up and began clawing at her skirts. "This stupid nightingale is about to face Slayer wrath, party or no party!"
Staring at her shapely thighs, Spike watched as she pulled her skirts to her hips and hooked them on the rowles at her sides. "It's a 'farthingale', pet, not a bird."
"Whatever!" she huffed, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Point is, I'm about to become Bloody Mary and murder the people that thought this gown was fashionable then… or now!"
"You're actually wearin' something akin to Elizabeth's tastes than Mary's," he pointed out, coming to stand in front of her. He gathered the bunched material at her waist and lowered it, swiping at the wrinkles, stealing a caress to her ankle. "But you're much prettier than either of them."
Biting her lower lip, she smiled coquettishly at him. "Her sister's name was Elizabeth, huh?"
Daring another caress, he tucked his tongue behind his teeth and leered. "That's right, pet." His hand stole up the back of her leg to cup her bare bum. "And when she became queen, her reign was known as The Golden Age."
His long fingers kneading her ass caused her to whimper, and she swayed towards him as he knelt before her. "So if I were queen, would you serve me?"
Pressing his face to her abdomen, he inhaled deeply of her scent, of the wetness that now coated his fingers. "I am ever yours to command, your majesty."