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They don't go on dates, not in the traditional sense, but as Sweeney and Spike wander down the street just after sunlight, Sweeney's arm slung heavily across Spike's shoulders, he knows that's still what this is. A fucking date. Like he's some goddamn smitten teenage girl.

And ain't that just the crux of it all. He is a goddamn smitten idiot. He never figured this sort of life for himself again, not after Eorann, and while he's generally pretty good at lying to himself about a whole host of things, there's no lying about this. This is right where he wants to be. He thinks about it every now and then, about how it was, being married to her, being married at all, and he doesn't say anything because it's the only damn thing he's not certain about.

That's not the sort of men they are, he figures. Only it was at one point. They've both been there.

But these days, this city, there ain't no promising forever. He thinks someone would be a fool to even try and yet... well, he's a goddamn fool.

"Want me to win you another stuffed prize to go with that vampire I got you... when the fuck was that?" he asks, smirking as they near the boardwalk and some of the game booths set up during the summer. "Christ, I'm too fuckin' old, I can't remember shit."

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"Dunno, love. Gonna have to let me consult my diary," Spike said with a smirk of his own, as if he hadn't kept the ugly little plush toy, keeping him company tucked into the dash of his car.

"Probably time for it, though, yeah? You know you've got to keep me interested, with little trinkets and prezzies, or my affections might wander."

"Oh, yeah?" Sweeney asks, smirking. "You want some jewels? Gold chains? Diamond rings? Gotta make sure people know you're mine and what better way than a bloody ring?"

Jealousy doesn't come much into play here. He's not entirely sure why. Sweeney knows he can be a hotheaded prick, prone to giving people shit when they don't deserve it, prone to seeing things where nothing exists, and always prone to some fucking jealousy. But he doesn't worry about Spike straying.

"I'm sure you have something worthy, hidden in your horde," Spike pointed out, "Though, I dunno about a ring. Might be a bit much, yeah?" He held up his hand, showing off the gem, which he was careful never to leave home without.

"Could be wrong, love, but I think it's pretty obvious I'm yours, as it is."

"Yeah, it's pretty fuckin' grossly obvious, how soppily in love you are with me," he agrees, still with that same smirk he knows has been called infuriating more than a few times in his life. He's giving Spike a hard time, but none of that changes that he feels the exact same way.

"Dunno what I got in there besides the coins," he says thoughtfully. "The spear, I guess, but who the fuck wants that besides Wednesday? I should take a look. See what I can find you."

"Oh, how in love I am? Really," Spike said, flatly skeptical. "I hate to break it to you, pet, but you're the soppy one."

He gave Sweeney's suspenders a tug, letting the elastic slap back against his chest with a pleased smirk.

"Wouldn't mind something pointy. Maybe not that one in particular."

"I got somethin' pointy for you," he answers with a leering grin, letting out a small oof when the suspenders snap against his chest.

He's curious, though, what else might be in his hoard. What kinds of treasures the God-King had that he's never even considered. The coins have always been there, barely a consideration because he'd never known anything else. His memory extends further now. Into murkier waters.

"What about a goblet?" he asks and he's still grinning, but it's tinged with faint curiosity. "Bet a king like me would've had a fancy goblet or two."

With a bark of laughter, Spike said, "Have a bit of history with goblets of uncertain origin. What about a circlet? Could I pull it off, you think?"

He puffed up his chest, his free hand resting on his hips as he struck a self-important pose.

"Oh, yeah," Sweeney answers, curving his shoulder and shoving it against Spike's chest in response to that fucking pose. "A real dainty one with jewels and swirls of golden leaves and all that good shit. You'd look real pretty and everyone'd know you were my kept man."

He wonders how much of this is a joke and how much of it is real. Was it what Spike wanted of him? Was it what he wanted to give?

"Oh, is that what I am, love? Kept?" Spike smirked. He had quit his job, after all, the two of them surviving on whatever money Sweeney could scrounge up, and the city's dole.

But he liked to think they were on more equal footing than that.

"I did say my kept man," he says before he hooks his arm around Spike's shoulders again and pulls him toward what looks like a bit of a party that's spilled out of someone's apartment and onto the street. It's a place to get a free drink, as someone proves almost right off, shoving a red plastic cup into Sweeney's hands, then one into Spike's as well.

"Love of my fuckin' life," he adds, considering. "That sound a little better to you?"

"Holy shit," a woman says from beside them. "That's the cutest fucking thing I've ever heard."

"Of your life? That's a long bloody time, love. Now I know you're fucking about," Spike smirked, though there was a small, hopeful ache growing within his chest, right in the place of his long-silent heart.

And then some nosy bent came walked by, ruining the moment.

"Yeah, it is, isn't it? Fucking adorable. Now piss off, we're having a moment."

Sweeney gives a rough snort of laughter, bullying Spike away from the party again with his bulk, away from the woman staring after them with slightly wet eyes. She doesn't even seem all that bothered by Spike's comment and Sweeney knows she's half-drunk, but her hands are still clasped to her chest as if she's just watched some stupid fucking romantic comedy.

"She didn't mean nothin' by it," he says to Spike. "Just speaking the truth, wasn't she?"

He's shit at this, shit at words, but he summons some old part of himself, the king, Suibhne mac Colmáin. The man who had been married before going mad. He'll never blame Eorann for not being able to take his madness, could never think less of her for it, but he can't pretend there's no comfort to be found in someone loving him despite the madness.

"Yeah," he says again. "Love of my fuckin' life feels about right."

Spike blinked, a faint crease settling between his brows as he cocked his head, looking up at Sweeney with bemusement. The woman was forgotten, the whole bloody boardwalk was forgotten, the carnival music of the carousel and games fading into nothing.

"Bloody hell," he murmured, "You're not taking the piss anymore."

And perhaps it ought not to have been a shock, but there was still a part of him convinced that they'd found one another after a lifetime, when they'd both resigned themselves to knowing that their great loves were behind them. Even if he knew that wasn't true. Not for himself, at least.

"Never really was," Sweeney answers as his hand lifts, thumb stroking across Spike's jaw. "What, you want some fuckin' proof? Wanna hitch your wagon to this old goddamn horse? Figure we could find someone around these parts willing to do the legal bits."

The words are out before he can think them through, but he finds he doesn't want them unsaid. He never figured himself for it, not as the man he was, the leprechaun, but even that's changed. That's not all he is anymore.

And he sure as fuck isn't under any god's thumb these days. This is his life now. His to do what he will.

Brow arched, Spike fought a shamefully hopeful smile as he asked, "Are you asking me to marry you?"

It frightened him, when little else did. It frightened him, because his last marriage ended in an instant, his family vanished and leaving behind only a memory. It seemed desperately foolish, to bet on forever, when any moment it might all go away. This place could take them apart from one another, on a whim, and it would be more final than death could ever be for men like them.

"Think I must be," Sweeney answers, wearing his own grin. "Unless you're gonna say no, then this is all just a big fuckin' prank."

But there's something in Spike's smile that makes him think he's not about to hear a refusal. He doesn't know where all this has come from, why it happened now, tonight. It's been sitting there for a time, unexplored but present and he'd thought it might stay unexplored for a long bloody time. Maybe forever.

Turns out he's wrong about that. Like he's been wrong about so many things.

"You know, if this is a whim and you change your mind about this in a week, you'll break my heart," Spike said, both of them knowing that there was truth in his teasing.

"I didn't think I'd do this again. Didn't think I'd want to."

"I'm too fuckin' old for whims," he answers. Maybe it's a whim to some extent, he sure as hell hadn't planned on this happening when they'd left their place tonight, but now that it is, he also doesn't feel any doubts or reservation.

"Christ, you think I planned on any of this?" he asks, but he's grinning. "I never did have much of a plan, but falling for a goddamn vampire in a magic fuckin' city where I remembered that I'm not only a leprechaun, but a bloody god? Nah, none of that figured in. But here I fuckin' am anyway."

"Too old for whims? Don't make me laugh," Spike said, with a smirk, moving his hands to frame the sides of Sweeney's face, thumbs smoothing along the edges of his beard.

"I'm saying yes. If that wasn't obvious enough."

Because he was a bloody fool, especially for love, and he was just fine with making the same mistake twice, when it didn't feel like a mistake at all.

No heaviness settles inside of him at Spike's words, no sudden feelings that he'd done something horrifically stupid and wrong. Instead, something warm and easy spreads through his chest, the same sort of something he'd felt all those months ago when he'd been a prick at the New Year's Eve celebration and Spike hadn't let him get away with it.

"Y'know Rapunzel's gonna be pissed she's not our flower girl," he says with a smirk before he cups Spike's face between his big hands and leans down to kiss him good and proper. It's a slow, warm, exploratory kiss. Nothing like how he'd usually kiss Spike out in public.

"Bit old for a flower girl, don't cha think?" Spike managed to say before Sweeney's lips were on his, pulling him into a kiss that might've seemed shockingly intimate in such a public place, if he'd given a damn about such things.

Pulling back, he let out a low hum, murmuring, "Think we could find someone to do a quickie, on short notice?"

"Think my luck might allow for it," he answers, nuzzling against Spike's cheek before he pulls back. His big hand closes over Spike's and he pauses for a second to get his bearings, to figure out what the fuck he's actually doing, then sets off down the block.

"What d'we need? City official and some witnesses, yeah?" he asks.

He's not headed to City Hall, which is closed, but toward another bar that's near City Hall. Where he figures they drink.

"If your luck doesn't allow for it, I'm not sure I know the point of you," Spike said, playfully matter-of-fact as he allowed himself to be pulled along by the hand.

"Too bad there's not one of those drive-thru places, yeah? I can't say it's even been my dream to get hitched by an Elvis impersonator, but it would make for a good story."

"Point of me?" he asks, amused. "I'm a fuckin' god. There ain't no point of me."

Sweeney has been to a few of those Vegas weddings. That's a city he's meant for, even if it's just to walk through a casino and watch his good and bad luck affect people as he passes by. That same luck was responsible for a few shotgun weddings and he's too arrogant to miss out on something like that.

"Fuckin' Elvis," he says with a snort as he pushes his way into the bar. "I'll take one of these boring fuckers over him today. Hey! Any of you sober enough and qualified enough to perform a wedding?"

A few heads turn in their direction and then one incredibly petite woman raises her hand tentatively.

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