One Good Lay | Blue Eyed Devil by Pattyanne

Spike kept a firm grip on Buffy's hand as he led her through the side entry door of Union Jack's.

The main room was empty, with all the chairs upended on top of the tables, but she could hear activity coming from the kitchen area. People talking and laughing, with an occasional four letter word thrown in for good measure.

"Well, look who's here!" A man Buffy recognized as the drummer was sitting on the edge of the stage, kicking his feet against it and making a hollow thumping sound. "It's our fearless leader."

The bass player looked up from where he was sitting, tuning his instrument. "Hey, Spike," he said mildly, accustomed to his band mate's chronic lateness for rehearsals.

Spike leaned over and whispered, "Come on and meet them. They won't bite."

Trying not to feel completely intimidated, she pasted on a bright smile as he dragged her through the club.

"Everybody," he announced, stopping in front of the stage. "This is Buffy Summers. Buffy, this is our bass player, Oz."

Oz, a small and slightly built man of around twenty-five tipped a finger to his forehead in greeting, then continued fiddling with his bass.

"The one with the big mouth is Xander Harris, our drummer," Spike informed her.

"YOU'RE late and I'M taking the abuse!" Xander said dramatically. "Typical. Hi, Buffy."

"Hi," Buffy replied. Xander had an open, friendly face, and a head of dark brown hair that curled at the ends. His Hershey bar eyes were expressive and curious. He reminded Buffy of one of her students, and she liked him immediately.

"And rounding out the bunch is our keyboard..." Spike went on...glancing around. "Okay, where's our keyboard player?"

"In the can," Xander informed him, gesturing with one drum stick. "He couldn't hold it."

"Uh-huh." Spike smiled at Buffy. "You can meet him later. His name is Anderton Leopold La Pierre, which he hates, so he goes by Andy."

"You can say THAT again," Xander added. "He hates it so much that the only time he uses it is when he signs his contracts."

The door to the men's room swung open, and a man emerged. A bit taller than Devlin, and bone thin, he had his head tilted back and was holding a wadded up handful of toilet paper to his nose.

"These nose bleeds are driving me fucking nuts," he said, his voice sounding like he'd been sucking helium from a balloon. "Oh, hi," he added, catching sight of Buffy. "Do I know you?"

"This is Andy," Devlin explained. "Andy...this is Buffy Summers. She's...."

"Yeah, I remember," Andy said. "You were here the other night. The teacher, right?"

She nodded. "Nice to meet you."

"You scampered off and he was a fucking bear for the rest of the night," he said, pointing at Devlin. "Never seen him so fucking pissed off."

Buffy wasn't sure how to respond to this. "I'm sorry," she ventured.

Spike flinched slightly. "As you can probably tell, Andy here can't really express himself without using the word "fuck" as often as possible."

"Fuck you," Andy replied, goodnaturedly. "I can if I want to. And what I said was true. You were a fucking bastard for the rest of the night. Wouldn't even speak to the nice young ladies that chucked you their undergarments."

"They did not!" Spike said curtly, then turned to look at Buffy. "They did not!" he said again, firmly.

Andy shrugged and tossed his used tissue into a nearby trash can. "Equipment truck showed up a bit ago," he informed Spike. "Got those new amps you wanted."

"What about my..."

"Yeah, that too. Waiting out back for you, all nice and shined up." Sitting down in front of his keyboard, Andy ran his fingers over it. "So...we fucking rehearsing today or not?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy sat at a table, sipping a glass of coke as she listened to Blue Eyed Devil work a little magic.

They sounded wonderful, never hitting a wrong note or missing a chord, and she had to smile as she watched how well they worked together.

Spike was totally showing off for her, giving her splendid demonstrations of his skill with a guitar. She was amazed at the way he could turn the simplest movement into something blatantly sexual. It had something to do with the way he moved his hips in little thrusting motions, and the way he tilted his head ever so slightly as he stared at her through those long, silky lashes.

But what she found most wonderful about his performance was how completely he was enjoying himself. It was quite obvious that he loved what he was doing. His smiles and laughter were too genuine and spontaneous to come from anything less than total harmony with his place in the world.

Spike Devlin was one of the fortunate few who had found his true calling...his passion...and also had the talent to make it work for him. Up on a stage was where he was meant to be. Making people happy with his music, excited by his life force.

But...where did SHE fit in to this equation? HOW could she, when it was all so alien to her, so different from anything she'd ever dealt with before?

Would he even want her to? After he was gone, would he ever think of her, or would she be nothing more than a pleasant memory to him?

He would be leaving soon...in just a few days...and the knowledge caused a heavy ache in the pit of her stomach.

What had she gotten herself into?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wiping his sweaty forehead on a bandanna that he pushed into the back pocket of his jeans, Spike grinned at her.

"Besides some of our new songs," he informed her, "we're gonna cover a few of the classics, some of the older stuff. Now pay attention, babe. I really want your opinion."

Buffy shook off her gloom. Deciding that, if she only had a few more days with him, she was going to make every one of them count. "Dazzle me," she said, returning his smile.

He turned and said something to the band that she couldn't hear. They all nodded and began the distinctive opening drum licks and chords of a familiar song.

Stepping close to the edge of the stage, he looked straight at her.

"Pretty woman, walking down the street
Pretty woman, the kind I'd like to meet
Pretty woman...I don't believe you, you're not the truth
No one could look as good as you.."

The beat was faster than the original version, fitting in well with their other work.

"Pretty woman, won't you pardon me
Pretty woman, I couldn't help but see
That you look lovely as can be
Are you lonely...just like me..?"

He let out a soft, sexy growl, making Buffy's heart jump in her chest when he aimed it her way.

"Pretty woman, stop a while
Pretty woman, talk a while
Pretty woman, give your smile to me.."

Buffy did as he'd requested. He smiled and rolled his eyes heavenwards, as though praying for mercy.

"Pretty woman, yeah, yeah, yeah
Pretty woman, look my way
Pretty woman, say you'll stay with me.."

As he had the other night, he dropped to his knees and leaned back, resting his guitar on his upper thighs.

He mesmerized her with his heat and intensity, as he kept his gaze locked steady with her's.

"Cause I need you
I'll treat you right
Come with me, baby
Be mine tonight..."

Buffy had no objections to that scenario.

"Pretty woman, don't walk on by
Pretty woman, don't make me cry
Pretty woman...don't walk away, hey...
If that's the way it must be..okay

I guess I'll go on home, it's late
There'll be tomorrow night
But wait
What's that I see?
Is she walking back to me?

Yeah, she's walking back to me
Oh..whoa, pretty woman..."

Rising to his feet, Devlin's eyes moved up and down her possessively. "Didja like that one?"

Buffy nodded. "I've always liked that song."

"Yeah, me too," he said. "It's a real classic piece of music. It's...well, its...."

"Older than the fucking Dead Sea Scrolls is what he's trying to say," Andy interjected.

"Andy!" Spike swung around on him.

"What? What'd I say?" The man seemed genuinely confused and Buffy couldn't hold back her laughter any longer.

"See!" Andy announced, feeling vindicated. "She fucking likes me. Don't you, doll?"

Buffy buried her face in her hands and nodded. "I do," she admitted. "I really do."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Half an hour later, Spike called the practice session to a halt. Everyone was in a genial enough mood, but he seemed wired up and wanting to leave.

Buffy watched as the other band members taunted him about something he apparently had left to do that day, giving her obvious side glances while doing everything short of nudging him in the ribs with their elbows while stage winking at him.

He just shrugged it all off and jumped down off the stage. After checking in with her, he begged her to wait once again while he showered, then promised to take her somewhere fun that evening.

Buffy sat and made small talk with Xander and Oz as she waited for Devlin to return. Two more cokes began to produce an urgent need for the bathroom, and when she came back out, Andy flagged her down.

"Hey, beautiful" he called from the stage where he was tinkering with some of the sound equipment. "He's out back saying hello to the other girl in his life."

He pointed her in the right direction, then went back to what he was doing, uttering an occasional "fuck this!" under his breath.

Buffy left the building through the rear exit, and saw immediately what Andy had been referring to.

The "other girl" in Spike Devlin's life was a big, shiny, black and chrome plated beast of the two wheeled variety.

**Oh, no....no, no, no....**

"A motorcycle!" she said shrilly. "You...you actually drive a motorcycle?"

Spike straightened up from where he'd been kneeling next to the gleaming machinery, grinning at her and beckoning her to come closer.

"Come on, teacher lady," he said coaxingly. "Let me take you for a nice...long...ride."

Part twenty-one.....

Buffy's heart was lodged somewhere in the region of her throat.

A motorcycle! He wanted her to get on the back of a motorcycle.

The palms of her hands felt clammy at the very notion of it. She didn't like motorcycles. They were too loud, and the people who drove them seemed to be foolishly reckless.

Her mother, a woman who never stopped reminding her to be on her guard against all the dangerous men who lived wild lives, had only recently sent her a new batch of newspaper clippings from the Los Angeles Times. She'd practically made Buffy a scrapbook of articles having to do with old friends and acquaintances; who was married, who was expecting a new baby, who had just been promoted in a Fortune 500 company, AND who was (as she put it) "not with us anymore."

Her mom's last batch of 'Here's Who's Dead!' notices had included the obituary of a boy Buffy had only known in the most oblique way...a friend of a friend's cousin-in-law.

Parker Abrams, a nice enough looking guy...although a little pop-eyed...had smiled up at her from the smudgy newsprint, a cautionary tale bearer from beyond the grave.

It was a simple story. Motorcycle...rainy day...wet pavement...smash, crash, dead.

Buffy had sighed and filed the clipping away with her mom's other notices of doom and gloom, on every subject ranging from "Don't pick up strange men in bars or bus stations" to "Be sure and change the battery in your carbon monoxide alarm, and what do you MEAN you don't have a carbon monoxide alarm? Don't you realize how many people die every year from carbon monoxide poisoning? Do you WANT to become a statistic?"

So, now she had a carbon monoxide alarm, courtesy of her mother. Unfortunately, she kept forgetting to buy a battery for it.

She was perfectly well aware that her mother's overwhelming concern was rooted in the love she felt for her. Joyce Summers suffered terribly from "Empty Nest Syndrome" and no opportunities for excessive mothering perpetrated upon an adult offspring were allowed to slip by her radar.

In fact, her mother was so good at the job that Buffy was surprised the woman's early warning system wasn't ringing it's little head off, letting her know that there was a...'NEW MAN'...making himself at home in her daughter's life.

And, not just a man....a rock and roll singer. The creative and artistic type that her mom had no use for, having been thoroughly burned by one herself as a younger woman.

Buffy had heard the story of "Simon...the Concert Violinist" more times than she could count. Her mom...an innocent 19 year old student at UCLA, had met Simon in the school library one sunny afternoon. Tall and slender, with black hair and stormy grey eyes, the moody young violinist had swept Joyce off her feet, romancing her with flowers, poetry, and music.

Unfortunately, Joyce had been too much in love to become aware of the other three girls who were enjoying the same attention from good old Simon. Her friends had tried to warn her about his roving eyes...not to mention his hands...but she had just brushed their concerns off as jealousy, because

they certainly had no one as "special" as Simon to lay claim

to.

The wake up and smell the coffee call didn't register with Joyce until she'd invested seven months of her life into the relationship.

She had impulsively shown up one morning at Simon's frat house, surprising him with breakfast in bed.

Which of them had been more surprised was debatable.

Caught 'inflagrante delicto', Simon hadn't even tried to talk his way out of the predicament. He'd simply thrown his hands in the air and announced that he couldn't abide the "inevitable yowling" that would occur between Joyce and his new sleeping buddy.

He had then dressed and swept dramatically from the room, somehow managing to convince both girls that the whole thing was their fault for being too possessive and clinging.

The moral of the pitiful tale was, of course, watch out for the "artistic types" that thought the world revolved around them.

The moral of the "Parker" story was far more basic: "Stay off of motorcycles! No matter what!"

Buffy had already disregarded one maternal admonishment, and was still standing...so far.

Did she dare tempt fate by flouting another?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Come on, teacher lady. Let me take you for a nice, long ride."

Spike tossed aside a rag he'd been using to polish the gleaming chrome handlebars. He grinned at her

like the most adorable little boy she'd ever seen...and she'd seen a lot of adorable little boys in her job. Showing her that perfect dentition of his, his blue eyes were practically twinkling in anticipation.

Buffy swallowed hard...and chickened out.

"I...I forgot something. Inside..." she stammered, pointing over her shoulder to let him know which 'inside' she was referring to, and feeling like a perfect idiot.

Devlin just nodded. "Hurry back," he said softly, never breaking eye contact.

Feeling her defenses begin to crumble, Buffy spun on one heel and headed back to the bathroom.

She had her hand on the door when she heard the creaky swing of the men's room door open and stop. Two men stood talking, and Buffy recognized their voices.

"So...when's "himself" planning on leaving good old Sunny-D?" Andy ventured cheerfully.

"Thursday morning is what he told me," Oz replied, the most words Buffy had heard come out of him at one time.

She held her breath, hiding herself just inside the ladies room.

"Yeah, but that was before he met the little teacher," Andy said, sounding amused. "His fucking mind's been wandering lately."

Oz said nothing, and Buffy heard the faint sound of a toilet flush.

"Don't you ever wash your fucking hands?" Andy asked.

"Why?" Apparently, Xander had joined them. "My dick's clean. It's been in my pants all day."

Buffy clapped one hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles.

"Whatcha ragging on about anyway?" Xander spoke again.

"Nothing much." Oz.

"Little Miss Buffy" Andy corrected. "And how air-head's been behaving lately."

"Oh, man," Xander nearly moaned. "She is SO hot!"

Buffy grinned. This eavesdropping business was fun.

"Or she COULD be," Xander suddenly tacked on, making the smile disappear from Buffy's face.

"What the fuck do you mean, "she could be"?" Andy said.

**Yeah! What the...heck...do you mean?**

"Well, she's cute," Xander explained. "Got a great figure...from what I can tell. But don't you guys think

she's a little...I dunno...prim and proper?"

The other two were silent for a moment, as though seriously considering Xander's comment.

"It's just," he went on, "her hair is all pulled back in that tight braid and she hardly wears any make-up. She looks a little...dowdy."

Buffy's hand automatically went to the top of her head, her fingers touching the neat French Braid she'd made there.

"And her blouse is all buttoned up tight. Skirt down to her knees. I mean...the girl's got potential, but she's not using it."

"Doesn't look like Spike is real concerned about that," Oz pointed out.

"Don't get me wrong," Xander said quickly. "She's real nice. She's just not his usual...type, if you know what I'm saying."

"Of course we know what you're fucking saying," Andy chimed in. "We've been playing together for three fucking years now."

Buffy heard the door start to swing closed, and the men's voices fade as they returned to the main room.

"....when we get going..."

"....he acts like he's pretty serious about..."

"....that'll be the fucking day..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She stared at herself in the full length mirror mounted on the wall next to the sink, feeling dull and lifeless...nothing like the fresh, neat feeling she'd had upon leaving the house earlier.

Prim and proper? Dowdy? Not using her full potential?

The only thing they'd left out was the word "mousy".

** "Not his usual type...if you know what I mean." **

Buffy knew exactly what he'd meant.

Devlin's usual type was, obviously, anything but her.

So...what did that mean? What...he was just amusing himself, killing some time before he could get out of town and hook up with someone of his 'usual type'?

But what about the things he had said? They'd seemed sincere.

** "You wouldn't believe the fastasies I've had about teachers..." **

Staring at herself, she pulled her blouse out of the elastic waistband of her skirt.

** "Give me your name and phone number." **

She slowly rolled the elastic, watching as her "prim and proper" skirt got shorter and shorter.

** "I've never been more serious in my life." **

Swinging one leg up at a time, she smoothed her stockings.

** "Get ready for me, darling." **

Buffy unfastened the top three buttons of her blouse.

** "I intend to rock your safe little world." **

She tucked the sides of her blouse inside, baring her skin and showing a hint of her cleavage.

** "You're what...not used to a man being interested in you?" **

Bringing her hands to her hair, she began undoing her braid.

** "...being attracted to you?" **

She shook her head, spreading out the soft waves the braid had left in her hair.

** "...wanting you?" **

She unslung her shoulder bag, dumping it's contents out on the counter.

** "You'll need to get used to it." **

Bending at the waist, she brushed her hair vigorously, then threw her head back. Full and thick from the back brushing, it framed her face in a honey colored cloud.

** "Tell me what you want, and I'll move heaven and earth to get it for you." **

When she was finished redoing her make up, her mouth was painted a glossy shade of crimson, and her eyes were heavily shadowed.

** "I could fall in love with you without even trying." **

Her mascara wand lengthened her lashes, and a fair amount of rose colored blush dusted her cheeks.

** "Do you think you could fall in love with me, too?" **

Oh, yes. Definitely. Without thinking twice.

Giving herself a final once-over in the mirror, she smiled.

"Prim and proper?" she asked her reflection as she gathered together her beauty products. "Well, as Andy would say....Fuck THAT!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She stepped out the rear door, and into the late afternoon sun.

Devlin was waiting for her. Leaning back against the saddle of the motorcycle, he was wearing a blindingly

white tee shirt, a snug fitting pair of jeans, and a short leather jacket.

He glanced up when he heard her shoes crunching the gravel beneath them.

When he saw her, his eyes widened and his jaw sagged. Buffy wouldn't have been surprised to see his tongue roll out and hit the ground.

Ordering every scrap of her nerve to get her feet moving, she approached him with her hands clasped

behind her back, a position that thrust her breasts forward enticingly...she hoped. "I'm ready for that

ride you offered me."

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, still staring at her. "I've died and gone to heaven." Standing upright, he smiled and extended one hand. "Hop on, Miss Buffy," he said. "I'm about to show you a very good

time."