Part Eighteen....

"I just now thought of something."

Buffy opened her eyes and found him lying beside her, his head propped on his hand.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Birth control. Are you angry?"

How could she be angry? She hadn't thought of it either. Until now...

"I'm sorry," he said.

Buffy met his gaze straight on. "You don't really look all that sorry," she informed him.

Spike couldn't deny it, and no one was more surprised by that fact than he was himself. He'd had his share of brief relationships and even a few one night stands, but he was always careful to provide protection.

With Buffy, though...it had been the absolute furthest thing from his mind. All he'd been able to think about was her, about how beautiful and sweet she was, and how badly he'd wanted her. He wouldn't have been able to stop and fumble around with a condom if his life had depended on it.

He wanted a family someday, had always planned on having one...when he met the right woman.

The right woman....

Was she here with him now? Lying beside him, looking at him with heavenly green eyes, in a room scented with the fragrance of perfume and sex.

Yes. This had to be her. He wouldn't be nearly as calm and relaxed discussing the possible consequences of unprotected intercourse with any other woman.

Buffy would be a spectacular mother. All you had to do was watch her for five minutes with her little students to know that. Tenderness and caring for them emanated from her in huge amounts.

An incredible feeling of good fortune washed over him. How lucky could one guy get?

He was in bed with a woman that he was falling in love with by leaps and bounds. She was beautiful and sexy, and sweetly innocent at the same time. A face that was cameo perfect...and a body that could stop traffic. With a wealth of golden brown hair for his fingers to get lost in, and the softest skin he'd ever touched...she was perfect.

Add on the fact that she made him laugh just by being herself, and that she loved kids, and he was brought all the way back to his original question; How lucky could one guy get?

He placed his hand lightly on her stomach, rubbing it gently. What if there was already a child growing inside of her? She was young and healthy, and no doubt fertile. There was no reason why a baby couldn't have been conceived.

He'd certainly done HIS part, he decided, grinning arrogantly. He couldn't ever remember being so turned on and coming so hard....and so much. Yes, she was probably....

"You don't need to worry," she said, placing her hand over his. "It's not the right time of the month

for that to happen."

Oh.

Oh, well....it was most likely for the best. That wasn't a good way to hold on to a woman. A baby should be planned for, by a husband and wife. He had very strong opinions on that subject, disliking the casual relationships that he saw so much of in his profession. There were a lot of people in his immediate circle of friends and acquaintances that had more than one child without ever bothering to get married.

It wasn't going to be that way for him. He wanted the entire package...the bride, the house with the picket fence, the dog and cat....and the little ones.

Someday.

**********************************************

Buffy turned on her side, wincing slightly from the ache between her legs. Her cheeks turned pink at the sticky feel of her thighs peeling apart.

This losing of one's virginity was not all moonlight and roses, no matter what the romance novels

touted. Although painful at first, the sex itself had become wonderful, and the pleasure she'd felt was everything she'd dreamed it would be.

The aftermath, though, was a different story. The lingering soreness, and the messy feel of their mingled fluids wasn't heaven on earth.

But looking into the dark blue eyes of the man who'd taught her the meaning of sexual desire, she

couldn't have cared less about the discomfort.

And she was eager to learn more.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him.

He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Just about you, luv. Did I hurt you?"

Buffy could hardly lie about it. "It hurt at first, but you made it better." She placed one hand on his

cheek, smiling when he turned his head and kissed her palm. "I guess I should have told you."

He raised one eyebrow. "Why didn't you?" When she couldn't seem to find an answer, he provided one. "Did you think that I wouldn't want you if I knew ahead of time that you were a virgin?"

Buffy smiled ruefully. It seemed kind of silly to hear

it out loud.

Devlin chuckled. "I'll tell you the truth," he said. "I've wanted you from the second I laid eyes on you. The way you tossed your head and gave me that 'who the hell do you think YOU are' look. Ignoring me, then ordering me to get back up on stage and stop pestering you."

"Not used to women telling you to go away, are you?" Buffy asked.

"Hell, no," he admitted. "But that's just one of the reasons I came after you." He wrapped one lock of her hair around his finger, rubbing it with his thumb. "When I saw you at the school the next day...I knew I was right to come looking. You absolutely knocked me out, ya know? Watching you play with the kids...then seeing you stomping across the yard to give me all kinds of hell."

Buffy remembered it, too. She'd never forget.

"I'll tell you a secret," he said, leaning closer. "When you were telling me off that day...I wanted to grab hold of you and throw you over my shoulder, carry you to my car, kicking and screaming. Just disappear with you....and make love to you for days and days."

She felt her heart rate speed up.

"And someday?" he added. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do."

The scenario he'd just described sounded mightily appealing to Buffy.

"Well," she said, returning his smile, "when you do...I don't think I'll be kicking and screaming."

Moving closer still, he leaned down to kiss her. "Don't say that, yet," he murmured. "I think I can make you scream...just a bit."

************************************************

Before their lips came together, the clock radio clicked on and startled them apart.

".....gonna be a nice one today, with highs in the lower 80s inland, and the mid 70s at the beach, but temperatures will drop in the early part of next...."

Buffy turned and banged on top of the gadget until it shut up. "Sorry," she said, facing him again.

Spike peered at the red digital numbers. "It's Saturday," he said. "Why in the world do you have that set for 5:30 in the bloody A.M.?"

Pushing her hair back out of her eyes, she made a face. "I usually go to the gym," she confessed.

He flopped over onto his back. "You've gotta be kidding me," he said, looking up at her. "You're not gonna do it today...are you?"

Buffy was about to say no, when a little devil with a pitchfork prodded her. "I really should. I go three days a week."

"Can't you go tomorrow?"

"But that would break my routine," she answered.

Devlin took a deep breath, preparing to argue until he got his way. "Oh, come on. Live dangerously."

"You could come with me," Buffy suggested. "I can bring a guest."

"At THIS hour of the morning?" He shook his head firmly. "No, thanks."

Buffy shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said, turning to roll out of bed.

Before she could slip away, he grabbed her arm and hauled her back down. "Baby, you don't need to go the gym," he informed her, a wicked light dancing in his eyes. "I can give you a proper workout right here."

She melted under the heat of his gaze. "Can you?"

"Oh, yeah," he assured her, moving her beneath him. "I'll give you all the...exercise...you can handle, little girl."

Buffy pretended to consider the offer. "Well...all right. But I have to take a shower first."

He just grinned at her. "Lead the way."

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

TBC.....

 

 

Part nineteen....


"Buffy...oh, Christ, baby...you're so tight...so hot...sweet...yes...there...there..."

Morning sunlight streamed into the kitchen, with tiny dust motes dancing in it.

Spike's hands held her securely around her waist, keeping her from sliding backwards on the Formica counter as he pounded into her. She held on by wrapping her fingers around the hard muscle of his biceps.

Almost delirious with pleasure, Buffy had to release her hold on him and place her hands on the counter, slightly behind her. With her legs encircling his waist, she could lift herself to meet every deep thrust.

When her head tipped back and exposed her creamy throat, he lunged forward and licked it from the hollow at it's base, all the way up to the point of her chin. Seeking the moist sweetness of her lips, he kissed her hard, plunging his tongue into her mouth.

Wanting to get closer...needing to go deeper, he curved his right arm around her waist and pulled her closer to the edge of the counter. Then, urging her to lie down all the way, he slipped his hands beneath her thighs, lifting her bottom until it lost contact with any hope of support except him.

His eyes were shut tight with concentration as he pumped harder and faster. Sex had never been this good before. With Buffy, he felt like he was sliding into warm cream, and lying against soft pillows. Her body was so responsive to his lightest touch that it excited him past the point of coherent thought. Whenever he put his hands on her, the rest of the world fell away into a void he had no interest in searching for. Everything he wanted was right here...here in this sun-warmed little kitchen.

He drove himself into her, harder and deeper, listening to the soft moans and half whispered words coming from her throat. He opened his eyes and found her staring up at him in amazed wonder.

It was a breathtaking sight. Her skin was damp and flushed a light shade of pink, and her green eyes were glassy. The heavy wealth of her honey brown hair was spread beneath her like a halo.

She was absolutely the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"I'm...I'm not hurting you, am I?" he asked.

Buffy shook her head, no.

It wasn't enough. "Tell me," he insisted. "Tell me how it feels for you."

She didn't really know what to say, being unskilled in the art of "pillow talk", and too shy to use the descriptive words he'd been saying to her.

He tried to help her. "Does it feel good, babe? Do you like what I'm doing to you?"

Now, there was a question she could answer!

"Yes," she nodded. "I love...it. I do....."

Sliding his hands beneath her back, he lifted her up. "Hang on, love," he directed, moving backwards and sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs.

Amazed that he'd been able to perform this maneuver without breaking their connection, Buffy quickly discovered that this new position had definite advantages. With her sitting on his lap and facing him, she could balance her feet on the rungs of the chair and lift herself up and down.

Tangling his fingers in her hair, he buried his face against her soft throat, kissing and licking it as she bounced on his lap.

His mouth found hers, and they kissed with passionate intensity. His tongue delved deeply into her mouth, tasting the softness of her inner cheeks and dancing on the edges of her small, white teeth.

Bodies pressed close, they rocked together, groaning and panting with every deep, gliding thrust.

Buffy was close...so close to the spectacular finish he'd been priming her for. Her fingertips moved over the smooth flesh of his shoulders and up his neck, finally meeting around his face. He kissed and nipped at the soft pads, sucking each finger and swirling his tongue around it.

His hands suddenly moved down, briefly squeezing her breasts before they found her waist. Lifting her just a little, he began to slam his hips up harder and faster.

Her breathing became ragged and sharp, and she clutched at his shoulders again, hanging on.

Their eyes met, and stayed locked on each other.

Buffy came first, her hips grinding down hard on him as her sex milked him in violent spasms, demanding every drop he had to give her. She cried out his name, and fisted her hands in his hair almost to the point of pain.

Devlin's control snapped. Taking a tighter hold on her, he began pumping even harder, gliding wetly in and out of her. Shouting hoarsely, he came, spurting what felt like a gallon of semen up inside of her.

When it was over, their breathing began to slow and the sweat began to dry upon them.

Nuzzling the side of her face, he laughed a little.

"Didn't we come down here for breakfast?"

Buffy smiled. "What was that we just had?"

"Call it an appetizer," he replied, kissing her cheek with a loud smack. "I'm starved. Want to go out to eat?"

She sat back and shook her head. "No. I want to dazzle you with my skill in the kitchen."

Grinning at her lecherously, he said, "Consider me dazzled, gorgeous. Or...was that not the skill you were referring to?"

"Very funny," she said. Giving him a slight shove, she looked around the floor. "Where did you throw my bathrobe?"

"Who knows?" he muttered, rubbing his chest against her bare breasts. "Who cares? Hey...come back here."

"Oh, no you don't." She dodged away from his reaching hand and scrambled off his lap. Their bodies separated with a moist, sucking sound, and they both made a face.

"Sorry about that," he said, sounding not the least bit sorry at all. "Bit messy, huh?"

Buffy snagged her robe and shoved her arms into it, feeling suddenly embarrassed about being naked in the kitchen. She excused herself to the bathroom, promising to fix him breakfast when she returned.

Halfway up the stairs, she heard him.

"Drop dead gorgeous, sweet and funny, loves kids, and she cooks, too!" he yelled. "Now I KNOW I'm falling, Miss Buffy!"

She almost walked into the bathroom without replying, then gathered up all her courage and leaned over the landing. "Me, too!" she yelled back, diving into the bathroom and locking the door when she heard him mutter something under his breath and come running up the stairs.


****************************************************


She took great pains with her breakfast preparations, grateful that she actually had the food she wanted on hand.

After starting the coffee maker, she pulled a large cast iron skillet out of a lower cupboard. Dropping in a spoonful of cooking oil, she sliced potatos and onions into the pan, frying them until the potatos were a golden brown, and the onions translucent.. When they were finished, she put the skillet in the oven to keep warm, and cracked a half a dozen eggs into her large blue mixing bowl. Adding a little milk, she whisked the egg mixture around until it was frothy, then melted butter in another skillet and poured the eggs in.

Devlin sat and watched every move she made, asking questions and pestering her until she put him in charge of making toast to give him something to do with his wandering hands.

She set the table with her grandmother's china and crystal, placing a chilled carafe of orange juice in the middle. When the eggs began to set, she scrambled them to a fluffy turn and spooned them onto a serving plate.

Spike buttered toast, and searched through the fridge for jam. He found three different kinds, and placed all of them on the table.

Buffy removed the skillet from the oven and placed it on a trivet next to the juice container. Placing her crystal salt and pepper shakers within easy reach, she poured two mugs of coffee and grabbed her sugar bowl.

Before he sat down, Spike looked out the window and immediately headed for the door. Barefoot, wearing only his jeans, he snapped off a yellow rose from a bush in her next door neighbor's yard, then ran back in the house and presented it to her.

Well, she had to kiss him for it, and she did...quite thoroughly. Placing the rose in a glass of water, she announced that breakfast was served.

Spike pulled out a chair with a continental flourish. Taking her hand, he seated her gracefully, then kissed her fingers before he sat down next to her.

They talked of inconsequential things while they ate. He told her about where he'd grown up...somewhere in the southern part of England, and she in turn revealed a few things about her own childhood.

He ate every scrap of food on his plate, praising it lavishly, and telling her that, while her skills in the kitchen were definitely not limited to the culinary, he certainly appreciated them at the moment.

Snitching the last piece of toast off her plate, he slathered it with a thick layer of boysenberry jam. Buffy poured more coffee into his mug, smiling when he dumped three large spoons of sugar into it.

She sipped her own lightly sweetened coffee, and considered the fact that for someone with his sugar laden eating habits, there wasn't an ounce of superfluous flesh anywhere on him. He was trim and lean, and very well built, and she had to force herself not to stare rudely at his bare chest.

It was really...really...difficult to do.


***************************************************


When the mantle clock in her living room chimed three, they were stretched out on her sofa kissing...making out was what she would have called it in high school...and they were both having a difficult time controlling themselves.

"Damn it," he swore softly, looking at the little clock as though he hated it. "I have to go. We're having a rehearsal today...some new material we're trying out on the tour."

Although he ordered himself to stand up and move away from her, the sight of her kiss-reddened lips drew him back for more.

A few moments later, Buffy pulled away. "I thought you had to go," she reminded him, holding him off with one hand on his chest.

"I do," he said, pushing her hand away and capturing lips again. "I'm going now," he added, trailing wet kisses up the side of her cheek.

Her eyes drifting shut with pleasure, she arched her throat, murmuring softly when he began nuzzling and kissing it.

"Temptress," he whispered in her ear, sucking gently on her lobe.

Shaking her head a little to clear it, she nudged him away. "Be good."

"I don't want to be good," he protested, wriggling his hips against hers. "I want to be bad," he added, smiling that killer smile of his. "I want to be bad with you...I want to be bad all over you." Slipping one hand up, he cupped her breast. "Don't you want to be bad with me, baby?"

She did. She really did. But....

Grabbing his hand, she pushed it away hard enough to shove him right off the couch.

"Hey!" he yelped, landing on his arse.

Before he could climb back up, she lurched to her feet. "You need to go," she told him, backing away.

Devlin rose to his knees and followed her. "Come here," he demanded, reaching for her.

She skipped back just in time. "No. Now, you get the rest of your clothes on, and I'll...don't...no, Spike, you can't...we can't..."

He'd jumped to his feet and was stalking her around the sofa. "Miss Buffy," he sing-songed. "You know I'll catch you, darling. Give in gracefully."

Buffy tightened the sash of her robe. "You have a rehearsal," she pointed out, using her best "teacher" voice. "Now, you go and get ready for it."

He stopped, surprising her a little. "Come with me."

"Who, me?"

"Yeah, come on. It'll be fun," he coaxed her, giving her that boyish grin she adored.

She hesitated. "The others won't mind?"

"Nah. I told you, love...it's my band. Come on."

She was wavering. "Well...."

Devlin sweetened the deal. "I'll sing you a song," he promised, tempting her shamelessly with his blue topaz eyes and charming smile. "A love song."

That clinched it. She was in!

 

 

Part twenty.....


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."



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


TBC....

 

 

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."



 

Part twenty-two.....




Buffy swallowed hard as she walked toward Spike, sitting there so calmly on his mounted death machine.

Being brave by putting on a false face was one thing, but she was now finding out that actually following through with said bravado was quite another.

"Come on, baby," he said, smiling charmingly. Oh, that smile was going to be the end of her, she had no doubt.

As she moseyed towards him, hoping that something would come up to change his mind about going for a ride...anything would do, fire-flood-famine, she wasn't feeling picky...he suddenly kick started the engine, making it come to life with the kind of a scream she'd only heard in movies.

Her hands automatically flew up to cover her ears. She could see him mouthing words at her, but couldn't hear them.

"What?" she yelled, shaking her head and frowning.

He started to speak again, then rolled his eyes and mimed her removing her hands from over her ears.

"Oh." The scream of the motor had settled down to a bearable roar, and she grinned uncertainly. "Did you want to tell me something?" she asked loudly, still maintaining a healthy
distance from the mechanized beast.

Devlin gave her an appraising look, then beckoned her forward with one finger.

Yep. Death. It was a certainty.

Buffy inched a bit closer. "Yes?"

"What's wrong?"

"Pardon me?" Another inch.

He spoke louder. "What...is...wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied, trying to sound sincere.

"Then climb on," he said, again holding out one hand.

There was no way she could avoid it without looking like a total weenie. Placing one hand in his, she let him guide her onto the saddle behind him.

Buffy wound her arms around his middle, tightly enough to cut off vital bodily functions. He patted the back of her hand, then turned on the seat to look at her.

"You ever been on a bike before?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said...have you ever been on a bike...before?"

What, was he kidding? Was she behaving like someone to whom such things as this were old hat?

"No," she confessed. "But I've always," she mentally crossed her fingers and toes, "wanted to."

Devlin gave her a seriously doubtful look. "You sure?"

"Yeah," she nodded hard. "Let's...you know...blow this popsicle stand!"

He laughed, clearly delighted. Apparently, she'd been successful at convincing him that she was ready to place her life in his hands. "Give me a kiss first," he demanded.

She kissed him long and hard, almost ruining her brazen front by saying "goodbye".


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



After she'd been on the machine for a while, she began to relax. It wasn't nearly as frightening as she'd imagined it would be.

Of course, he was staying off the main streets and highways, and was sticking to the coast road. The "scenic route", he called it.

Stopping at a small roadside drive-in, the likes of which she didn't know still existed outside of old movies and television programs, he waited patiently as she used the bathroom.

Buffy's kidneys had taken a bumpy ride, and she stayed until she couldn't squeeze out another drop, not wanting to have to ask him to pull over beside a clump of bushes on the way back.

When she came out of the bathroom, she found him standing in front of a stand of trees, gazing out over the ocean as the setting sun painted it gold and crimson. The place where he stood was less than five feet from a sheer drop to the rocky shoreline below.

She hated to bother him. He seemed to be thinking about something quite deeply, and it felt crass of her to just push on into his private thoughts.

Walking towards him, she stood by a bunch of unoccupied picnic tables, waiting for him to notice her.

It didn't take long. He turned and smiled, then straddled one of the benches and held out his hand. "Come and sit down for a minute."

Buffy started to sit facing him, but he turned her around so that she was facing the setting sun. Pulling her back until she was reclining in his arms, he nuzzled her hair. "Can I ask you a question?"

Hoping she wasn't about to be quizzed on any previous experiences she might have had on motorcycles before, she agreed.

"Well...not that I don't love the effect...but why did you go back into the club looking like Miss Buffy, my sweet and no longer virginal little preschool teacher, and then come back out looking like Ann Margaret in 'Kitten With a Whip'?"

Well, she could hardly say that it was eavesdropping on a private conversation that had inspired her sudden makeover. Problem was, she just wasn't good at spur-of-the-moment falsehoods.

"I just thought that I didn't look...that you might think I'm...well, not sexy enough," she said lamely.

"For who?" he asked, clearly surprised. "For me? What have I EVER done or said to make you think that?"

Before she could stop them, the words were out of her mouth and into his ear. "YOU didn't say anything."

She came down a tad too hard on the word 'you', and he picked up on it. "But SOMEONE said something?"

Buffy just shrugged. No big deal.

Devlin easily narrowed a list of suspects. It couldn't be Oz. In the first place, Oz never commented on the girls his friends dated, and in the second place...Oz rarely commented on much of anything. Stoic as the bleeding Sphinx, the man was.

Andy was just as unlikely as Oz. He liked all girls, every one he came into contact with, appearances notwithstanding. All a girl had to do was be female and have a pulse.

Or not! Sometimes a pulse was optional.

After counting Oz and Andy out, it was obvious that Xander was the culprit. He had a bad habit of opening his mouth before his brain kicked in, and it had nearly gotten him punched in the nose on more than one occasion.

Buffy was fidgeting uncomfortably, breaking his concentration. "So...what did this mystery person say to you? Come on, love...I know it was Xander. Tell me so I can beat the crap out of him and still have time to hire a new drummer before the tour."

She was sorry that she'd ever said anything. Was it possible to actually die of embarrassment? Was she about to find out?

Hating to say it, she mumbled something he couldn't quite hear.

"What?"

"I said..." She raised her voice a little. "...prim and proper."

"Who is?"

"Apparently, I am!"

"He TOLD you that?!"

Buffy squirmed. "Not exactly."

"Well, WHAT exactly?" Spike asked, understandably confused.

"He wasn't saying it to ME."

"Buffy." He made her turn and look at him. "What did he say?"

Wishing the side of the cliff would suddenly slide off into the ocean so that she could change the subject, Buffy confessed. "That I'm not your type. My hair is always pulled back...I don't wear enough make up...and my skirt is too long."

"Fuck! I AM gonna kill him."

"Oh, don't get him WRONG," Buffy quoted, still a little stung. "I'm nice and all that, but I'm just not your usual type."

"I have a 'usual' type?"

"Xander seems to think so." She allowed herself a tiny smile. "On the bright side, though....I have potential."

Devlin sighed and squeezed her. "Buffy...you're the only girl I want. You know that....don't you?"

"You mean," she said teasingly, turning back to face the ocean, "now that I'm more your usual type?"

"No!" he said quickly. "I mean...you have been...you...oh, come on, you know what...I...hey, did I just hear you giggle?"

"Maybe a little," she admitted, trying to control it. "But, listen, you can't yell at Xander...cause he'll think I'm a big tattletale. I don't even let my kids kids get away with that."

He grumbled about it, but made no promise to keep quiet. Instead, he turned her on the bench and pulled her onto his lap, kissing her until she was breathless.

"So, you like this look?" she finally asked, gesturing down at her new 'self'.

Devlin gave her a long, slow once over, his hands rubbing caressingly up and down her back. "I like any look that you care to show me," he said, nuzzling her ear. "Especially the one you showed me yesterday on the stairs..."

"Spike!"

"And in the bed..."

"Quit it!"

"And the shower..."

"I'm leaving."

"No, you're not." He bit down on her earlobe.

Buffy waited, then gave him a little push. "Hey! Let's not forget the kitchen counter!" she reminded him.

He grinned lecherously. "Oh, I'll NEVER forget the kitchen counter," he said, lifting his eyebrows in a highly suggestive manner that turned Buffy's cheeks pink. "It'll be one of our shining moments."

"One of them?"

"Uh-huh. In point of fact," he went on, kissing the warm skin of her collarbone, "I was thinking about making another...very special...memory."

Buffy pulled back and looked at him suspiciously. "Explain."

Devlin jerked his head to one side. "See that bike over there? Well, I was thinking...."

"You know what?" Buffy interrupted. "You've gotta quit calling that thing a bike. I ride a bike. It has two pedals and one gear, and a little basket on the front, and the brakes....."

"The brakes are what?" he asked sharply.

"The brakes are fine." She leaned back in his embrace and caught his "how dumb do you think I AM?" look. "They will be fine," she amended. "I'll get them fixed."

"Thank you," he said politely. "Please do it BEFORE you take another ride down Suicide Hill."

"Sunset Avenue," Buffy corrected. "And I was only nine years old when that happened."

"I know, but you said...."

"And it wasn't even the same bike!"

He had to kiss her to stop her talking. "That's better," he said, when he'd subdued her into passivity. "Now, about the bike...the MOTORCYCLE...I was having this little fantasy earlier. When we were driving out here...you had your arms around me...and I kept imagining one of your pretty little hands slipping down into my..."

"It's the new look isn't it?" Buffy interrupted, hoping to steer him away from the subject of motorcycle sex. "Now, you think I'm easy."

With a sigh that started somewhere in the soles of his feet, Devlin looked her square in the eye. "Miss Buffy...if there ever was a word that couldn't be applied to you, the word would be easy."



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



While waiting for it to get completely dark, Devlin ordered hamburgers and the greasiest french fries Buffy had ever tasted.

She watched him douse his food liberally in salt and ketchup, then dump seven packets of
sugar...SEVEN of them!....into a paper cup of iced tea.

He took a long swallow and grinned at her. "Putting ice in tea is one of the best ideas you yanks have ever come up with."

"Nice to know we're good for something besides kicking England's ass in a war," she came back smartly.

Spike laughed. "Well, someone's saucy tonight." He looked up at her as she was licking a smear of ketchup off one finger, and his voice changed dramatically. "You ready to go, love?"

"Yeah, I guess..." She glanced up and caught the look on his face. "...so."

"Good," he nodded. "Because if I can't be somewhere alone with you real damn quick...I'll have to drop this ice in my lap."


TBC.....


AN: I stole the "pulse optional" line from British comedian, Eddie Izzard.

Comments? I love hearing 'em!

 

 

Part twenty-three....


The kids running the drive in placed their 'Closed' sign in the window and piled into a black Ford pick-up truck that had probably been new right around the time that disco died.

When he was certain that everyone in the area had departed, Spike wheeled his motorcycle under the lower branches of a Monterey Pine. The moon was fat and bright, and the ambiance couldn't have been more romantic if he'd planned it that way.

Buffy watched as he flicked a couple of switches on the control panel, and was surprised when music began to play. "Motorcycles have radios?"

"Some do."

"How in the world can you hear the music?"

He grinned at her. "I turn it up real loud."

He wasn't turning it up loud now. It was at a perfect level for them to enjoy, without being obnoxious or frightening the local wildlife into a stampede.

When a new song started, Buffy's attention perked up. "Hey, he sounds familiar."

Devlin reached for her hand and tugged her up off the bench. "He should. He's the guy who's been panting and moaning in your ear for the last couple
of days."

She giggled, fanning herself with her hand. "Gee...I'm dating a radio star. The other girls will be so jealous."

He placed her right hand on his left shoulder, then slipped his right arm around her waist. "My mother made me take dancing lessons when I was thirteen. Let's see if I can remember anything."

Taking her hand, he waltzed her around the moonlit clearing, singing along with his voice on the radio...


"Watching every motion
In my foolish lover's game
On this endless ocean
Finally lovers know no shame
Turning and returning
To some secret place inside
Watching in slow motion
As you turn around and say

Take my breath away
Take my breath away



"I haven't heard this one before. Is it new?" Buffy asked, trying not to watch her feet, while counting silently to herself.

"Nope. One of our first," he replied. Releasing her from his arm around her waist, he kept a hold of her hand and spun her underneath his raised arm,
three times.

Butterflies danced in her tummy, making her laugh.


"Watching, I keep waiting
Still anticipating love
Never hesitating
To become the fated ones
Turning and returning
To some secret place to hide
Watching in slow motion
As you turn to me and say

Take my breath away.."



"It actually didn't do very well when if was first released," he said, reclaiming her in his arms and continuing to dance with her. "Then when 'Heart Racer' hit big and went platinum, a lot of stations started giving it air time."

Buffy was surprised. "Why didn't it do well?"

"Because it's not very good," he admitted. "But anytime a band goes to the top of the charts, they start to resurrect every piece of drek they can lay
their hands on."


"Through the hourglass I saw you
In time you slipped away
When the mirror crashed, I called you
And turned to hear you say
If only for today
I am unafraid

Take my breath away.."



This was probably the single most romantic moment in her life so far. It had to be every girl's dream...an amazingly handsome and wildly sexy rock and roll star was singing a love song in her ear, and dancing with her under a full moon and a sky full of stars..old fashioned style dancing, too! Not the sort of thing where the participants danced three feet away from each other and never touched.


"Watching every motion
In this foolish lover's game
Haunted by the notion
Somewhere there's a love in flames
Turning and returning
To some secret place inside
Watching in slow motion
As you turn my way and say

Take my breath away
My love, take my breath away..."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The song ended, and Devlin slipped both arms around her waist, walking her backwards towards the parked motorcycle until Buffy felt the seat pressing
against the back of her upper thighs.

Then, with one finger under her chin, he tilted her head up and looked down at her very seriously.

"I love you."

His voice was soft, but his words were firm and free of any hesitation or doubt.

Talk about having your breath taken away!

He had hinted at it, joked about it, and flirted around the edges of it...but this was the first time the actual three words had been uttered.

It thrilled her. It terrified her.

Her knees threatened to give out, and she had to grab hold of his arms to keep herself from melting into a shivery puddle.

"You're making me nervous, love," he said, his brows drawing together. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

Yes. She knew that "I love you" generally required a like response. But these were words she had never spoken to a man before. This was a huge, gigantic leap into unknown waters for her, and she wasn't wearing a life jacket.

After waiting for her to speak, Spike took a deep breath and stepped back. "This isn't going the way I hoped it would," he said, staring at his feet. "First
time I tell a girl that I love her, and I'm bollixing it up but good."

First time?

Buffy felt her heart jump in her chest. "The...the first time?" she asked, her voice shaky. "You've never...I mean...never?"

Devlin shrugged. "Never," he confirmed. "I'm not saying I haven't had...relationships...before. But I never fell in love...until I saw you."

Everything that made life sweet, that gave it color and magic, was shining from his eyes. This was just as new to him as it was to her, and she was awed by the courage he had to open his heart so completely.

Now, it was time for her to step away from the cautious and carefully controlled patterns woven into the tapestry she'd been constructing for her life. Love wasn't meant to be that way.

Fear had no place in a loving heart, and life couldn't be predicted or guaranteed. All it could be...was lived.

A wave of giddy happiness suddenly swept through her, warming her from the inside out. All her mother's warnings were forgotten. She would no longer worry about some distant future that might never come to pass.

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


He was taking her silent reverie the wrong way, seeing it as a clear sign that she did not return his affections.

Humiliation burned inside of him, and he could have kicked his own ass for speaking too soon. With slightly reddened cheeks, he tried to salvage as much of his dignity as he could by laughing it off.

"You know, I haven't been this embarrassed since I tripped over a microphone cord and fell into the drum kit," he said lightly. "I don't suppose you'd be
willing to just forget I said anything?"

Buffy answered him by launching herself at him. She twined her arms around his neck, tugging until he lowered his head. "I love you, too," she said, sudden shyness making her voice almost inaudible.

"Pardon me?" he asked, leaning a little closer.

She raised her volume a notch. "I love you, too."

The frown on his face slowly began to fade, and an uncertain smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You do?"

"I really do."

His smile widened. "Well, that's a relief. I was getting ready for you to scamper off into the woods."

Buffy shook her head. "Not me," she replied, returning his smile. "Goodness only knows WHAT'S out there."

Spike slipped his hands under her arms, sitting her sidesaddle on the seat of his motorcycle. "So, we're exclusive?" he asked, sliding his hands under her
skirt and stroking the tops of her thighs.

His touch was distracting her. "Mm-hmm."

He parted her legs and stepped between them. "I want to be your boyfriend, Buffy," he said. "Officially."

"Okay." She sighed as his fingers crept further up, sliding her underpants down and off.

"With all the rights...and privileges...the position entails."

One hand lifted her left thigh, maneuvering her into straddling the seat of the bike. "They're yours."

He climbed on behind her and scooted her forward. "There's no going back," he warned.

Pressing his front to her back, he reached around and started unbuttoning her blouse.

Glancing down at his hands, she realized his intent and turned bright red. "What are you doing?"

He bent down to whisper in her ear. "Making it official."

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


To Buffy's own everlasting surprise, she didn't protest when Spike unfastened her blouse and bra. His hands felt too good on her skin, and she wasn't about to complain, even if she was outside where anybody and his brother could see her.

When his hands skimmed up her sides and slipped around to cover her breasts, she leaned her back against his shoulder, nearly purring with the pleasurable sensation.

Spike squeezed and molded her flesh, lightly flicking his fingers across her nipples. "Nothing prim and proper about you, Miss Buffy," he murmured into the curve of her neck.

Nope. She'd left prim and proper behind about three miles back.

But, when he urged her to lift up so that he could undress her, she had to say something.

"Spike...no," she whispered, reaching back to stroke the side of his face and take the edge off her words. "I just...I can't...not out here."

He had angled the bike so that if anyone should drive by and glance this way, all they would see was his back. However, he didn't want to break the mood and since she seemed so willing to go through with what he wanted, he was agreeable to her request.

Totally naked could happen later, back when they  had plenty of time and a nice, comfortable bed to play in.

"All right," he conceded, nibbling the soft skin below her ear. "But if I can't have you naked, you're gonna have to do something else to really get me going."

"Something else?"

She sounded alarmed, and he laughed. "Don't get all worked up, luv. It's nothing completely depraved...not yet, anyway."

That wasn't much help, but she decided not to press the point and just waited for him to tell her what he wanted.

"Talk to me," he said into her ear. "Make me hard."

Talking was something she could do. She could talk all day, if the subject was right. "About what?" she asked,  knowing perfectly well what topic he was interested in, and hoping she could pull it off.

"About the ongoing problem of global warming," he said, reaching under her skirt again. "And how we can contribute to it...right here."

He placed his hands on her inner thighs and began  moving them up. The light touch gave her goosebumps. "Well," she said, matter-of-factly, "I guess we could expend a little energy."

"Tell me how," he urged, sending an exploring finger into the curls between her legs.

Buffy felt a rush of moisture dampening the seat she was perched on. "Ex...exercise," she gasped.

Devlin removed one hand and reached down to unzip his fly. "Sounds like fun," he said, extracting his erection from the tight blue denim. "Will you bend over and touch your toes?"

"I...what? On this?"

He laughed and pressed his hips against her. "God,  you're adorable," he said. "And you've made me very  hard, just talking about exercise. Imagine what you could do if you really got down and dirty."

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

For some reason, Buffy felt challenged. Rising to it, she turned her head until she could watch the expression on his face. "You mean if I asked you to put your hands on my b...my tits?" Her face turned bright red, but she managed to say the word, one that had never passed her lips before in her life.

He caught his breath sharply, a bit shocked at what she had said. "God...Buffy," he muttered, pushing up her skirt and grinding his rigid cock against her soft bottom.

She faced forward again, feeling pretty proud of herself. Wrapping her fingers around the hand grips, she leaned forward. "Suppose I told you...that I want you to touch me here," she asked, lifting her rear. "That I want to feel your fingers on me...making me...making me wet. What would you do?"

Shaking his head in disbelief, he shrugged. "I would do it," he informed her, stroking her moist sex. "You know I'm your slave, baby."

"Oh, that's nice," she whispered, rocking against his hand. "More, please."

"More what?"

"More of...what you're doing."

Sliding one arm around her waist, he deftly inserted his finger inside her, sending it all the way in. "More of that?" he asked, beginning to pump it in and out of her. "Do you like it?"

Buffy's head fell back against his chest. "Uh-huh," she said on a soft whimper of breath.

Spike wasn't going to be able to last much longer. He wanted more than his finger inside of her.

"Buffy," he said, leaning forward, "reach up and grab that branch."

One of the lower limbs of the tree was situated at just the right height for what he had in mind.

She looked up when he peeled her hands off the handlebars of the motorcycle and raised her arms in the air. Grabbing the branch as requested, she held on tightly.

"Pull yourself up a little," he instructed. He put one hand on her waist, and used the other to position himself. "Now, baby...slide down...ahhh...slowly, luv....oh, yeah."

With both hands on her waist now, he guided her up and down, watching the place where his shaft disappeared and reappeared so enticingly.

Buffy clung to the branch, using the muscles in her arms to lift and lower herself. He went in so deeply that his penis touched places inside of her that she'd never known existed before.

"God, baby...that's so good." He hissed in air through clenched teeth. "You feel so hot...so wet..."

Violent spasms jerked and shuddered through him, making him lunge up harder, grinding himself into her.

"Fuck me," he panted, kissing and nuzzling the smooth, damp skin of her back. "Fuck yourself....on me."

With a herculean effort, he forced himself to remain still, letting her slide up and down, her tight sex grasping and pulling on his cock.

Buffy felt completion approaching. She moved faster and harder, almost throwing herself onto his shaft, making him grunt with every impact.

"That's it," he groaned, cupping her breasts and fondling them roughly. "Do it...come on...you know you want it...need it...don't you, baby? Harder...harder, goddammit!"

She couldn't hold on anymore. All the strength in her body was concentrating in one place, and her arms were giving out.

Devlin must have sensed it, because he pulled her back down. "Lean forward and grab the handlebars again," he said, then planted his feet and shifted his own weight forward.

Once she had a firm hold, he began power driving into her at a meteoric pace. Placing one hand next to hers on the right hand grip, he took her left breast into his free hand and continued squeezing it, alternating from firm to gentle pressure.

Ripples of pleasure widened and spread through them both as their bodies slammed together in a primal rhythm.

"Baby," he said suddenly. "I'm...I can't last much longer..are you...can you...oh, fuck...yes...Buffy...tighter...tighter!"

She squeezed her internal muscles down, clenching them around his cock in a vise-like hold that only got stronger when she began to climax. "Spike," she gasped. "I'm...oh.."

"Do it," he encouraged her. "Come for me, Buffy. Come hard. I'm coming....with you, baby...now...ohhhh...yeah...right...now!"

Using both arms, he hauled her down on him, holding her  still as he ejaculated a huge amount of semen into her, his hips jerking with every spurt of fluid he gave her.

Nothing was hidden...and nothing was held back.

Passion fused their bodies together, just as surely as love bound their hearts.