Title: Blue Eyed Devil
Author: Pattyanne
[email protected]
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS
characters belong to me.
Feedback: Love some, thanks!
Rating: Up to NC-17
Summary: AU. Spike Devlin is the
lead singer for the band 'Blue Eyed
Devil'. Buffy Summers is the local
preschool teacher he falls in love with
shortly before leaving for a nationwide
tour.






Part thirty-six...


San Francisco looked like a beautiful city.

As much as she could see of it through the black
tinted windows of yet another limousine, anyway.

After retrieving her luggage, Spike had led her through
the terminal to the waiting area outside. They hadn't been
standing at the curb for more than thirty seconds before
the shiny stretch limo pulled up. The driver practically
leapt from the car and ran around to deal with Buffy's
suitcase, while she herself was stowed inside the rear
door by her obviously amorous boyfriend, who couldn't
keep his hands to himself.

"What's with all the limousines?" she had asked
playfully, sliding all the way over to the far side of
the seat.

He'd made some smart ass comment about how highly
valued he was by the sponsors of the tour, then confessed
that his habitual lateness, combined with the fact that he
always got lost in a new city, had prompted them to keep
a car and driver at his disposal.

Following her to the other side of the car, he reached...only
to have her slip away and hop to the seats on the opposite
side.

Since being adorable always scored big points for him, he'd
folded his arms across his chest and pouted, stating how
long...the exact amount of days, hours and minutes...it had
been since he'd kissed her properly, and didn't she CARE that
he was slowly dying?

He'd stared sulkingly out the window, not saying a word until
he'd noticed her fiddling around with the complimentary bottle
of champagne provided by the limo service.

"Oh, no you don't!" had been his only comment before pouncing
on her and wrestling the bottle out of her hand. Through the
slight ringing in her ears, she'd heard him mutter something
about her being 'high enough' as it was, and that there was no
way in hell he was going to allow her to add anything alcoholic
to the mix until the pills she'd swallowed had worked their way
through her system.

She spent the rest of the ride amusing herself with all the
buttons and gadgets there were to play with. The television
flicked on and off, the windows slid up and back down, and the
stereo blared so loud that people on the street stopped to see
where the ruckus was originating from.

Once she discovered the controls for the sun roof,
nothing would do but that she open it up and stand up on the
seat to look around outside. The evening breeze was crisp
and went a long way towards clearing her muddled head,
but it wasn't until she felt Spike's hands sliding up her outer
thighs and beneath her skirt that the world suddenly dropped
into sharper focus.

"Hey!" she said indignantly, sitting back down on the
seat and peering suspiciously at him.

He just sat there like the most innocent of lambs. "Problem?"

"You were feeling me up!"

Spike shook his head. "You're imagining things," he
assured her. "Those pills have made your head a bit wonky."

She looked at him with her 'stern teacher' face. "Are
you telling the truth?"

"Would I lie to you, darling?"

Suppressing a smile, she popped back out of the sun-
roof just in time to see a cable car passing by.

On the count of three, she felt those warm and knowledgeable
hands again, this time on the inside of her slightly spread
thighs. Clearing her throat loudly, she glared down at him.

He was fast though, and his hands were already back on
his lap, clasped loosely. "What?"

"You did it again."

"Did what?"

"Felt me up."

"I didn't! Swear to God." He held his hands up, showing
them to her as if to say, 'See! They're right here, minding
their own business!, thank you very much!'

Returning her attention to the streets of San Francisco,
Buffy marveled over how much she'd changed in the last
week. Before meeting Spike Devlin, she would have jumped
out of the car, whether it was moving or not, rather than allow
a man to....

**Oh, my God! Is he...he's trying to pull down my under-
wear!!**

Her mother would drop dead if she knew what was
happening to her only child.

Although hardly a prude, Joyce Summers had been raised
in a household by parents who believed that there were certain
things a lady simply did not do, and she'd passed those lessons
on to her own daughter...who was fast forgetting most of them.


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


"Stop that!" she said sharply, kicking at him with one
foot. "I know what you're up to down there, you sneak."

Her skirt settled back around her legs for about ten
seconds. Trying not to wriggle, she folded her arms in
front of her and watched the parade of humanity walking
along the sidewalks and darting in and out of traffic.

"You know," he said from beneath her, "I'm really not
doing anything ungentlemanly. I know you're a modest little
thing and the last thing I want to do is embarrass you in
public."

Her skirt ruffled lightly, as though he was moving it one
up one micro-centimeter at a time.

"I'd never," he went on, "do anything you wouldn't want
me to do and I'm certainly not the kind of a bloke who'd
try and look up your skirts to see what you're wearing
and oh, good God...Buffy...can I just say that's the sexiest
thing I've ever seen in my life!"

She smiled. He'd discovered the scrap of black lace
and satin she was wearing that called itself a pair of
underpants. There was a cutout at the waistband, with
a tiny gold charm dangling in the center of it.

"Sweetheart....I know you're having a good time up there
checking out the city and all, but, do you think you could
come back down here, please?" he begged. "Unless you
WANT me to pull these down and take a little taste of you
where everyone can hear you scream. Is that what you want,
baby? You getting a bit kinky on me?"

Without a word, she dropped back down on the seat, and
found herself tackled into a prone position.

"Where did you get those naughty little things? Oh...they're
a little bit damp right here, aren't they?"

"Well, there's...there's this store...at the mall...it's...."

"It's what?"

"What? Oh! Uh....it's called...Leather...and Lace. I...oh!...I
shop on the....the lace side..."

"Really? I approve....God, that feels good...little harder,
babe...mmmm. You....you ever consider....trying the leather
side? Give me your hand....right there....yes...."

"There....there WAS this....red leather....oh, Spike...uh,
corset....sort of a thing...I saw. It....ahhh....it laced up....the
front, and it had....it had no...."

"Had no what, baby? Ah, yeah....harder!"

"No.....CROTCH!!"

With that, the limousine pulled into the round circular driveway
in front of the Mark Hopkins Hotel.


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


With her cheeks tinted crimson, Buffy kept a tight hold
of Spike's hand as he led her through the elegantly
appointed lobby of the hotel.

Despite the privacy glass in the limo, she just couldn't
shake the feeling that the driver had been a silent witness
to the antics in the passenger compartment. Something
about the way he'd smiled when he'd opened the door
just as they'd managed to compose themselves and
straighten their clothing.

Although she'd been able to climb out of the car and
smile politely at the man, escaping with MOST of her
dignity intact, she couldn't help hoping that a different
driver would conduct her back to the airport when it was
time for her to go.

In the elevator, as she watched the floor numbers fly
by, Spike took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"I'm really sorry about that, luv,"he said quietly. "I feel like
it's been forever since I touched you, and I guess I...I couldn't
help myself. You mad at me?"

One look at his face completely banished any "mad"
thoughts she may have had. Never had the boyish
charm been laid on quite so thick.

"I was there, too," she said, returning the gentle pressure
of his hand. Glancing back at the red digital numbers,
she became alarmed when she saw them whoosh past
twelve. "Just out of curiosity...how far up are we going?"

"All the way, luv," Devlin grinned broadly. "All the way."

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


The elevator glided to a smooth stop on the 17th floor.

When the doors slid open, Buffy stepped out, the heels
of her shoes sinking in plush carpeting.

"Pretty fancy," she whispered automatically, using
a tone she normally reserved for libraries and churches.

Spike inserted a key card in a slot on a door bearing
a small gold plaque with the words, 'Presidential Suite'
engraved on it.

Before she could place one foot in the room
Devlin set her suitcase down just inside the door, then
scooped her up in his arms and carried her inside.

"I thought only brides got carried over thresh holds,"
she laughed.

Closing the door behind him with his foot, he just
smiled and shrugged. "Give me time," he replied
suggestively.

Whether he was teasing or not was anybody's
guess.


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


The Presidential Suite was both amazing and
frightening at the same time. It was so luxurious,
so expensively decorated, that Buffy was almost
tempted to take off her shoes and leave them by the
door so as not to risk dirtying the carpet.

The door opened into a formal entry hall. There was
a closet on one side, and a small guest 'powder
room' on the other.

Beautifully furnished, there were glass topped gold
leaf coffee tables and lounge chairs with matching
ottomans. She saw floor to ceiling windows that had
to provide a spectacular view of the city, both at night
and during the day.

Satin white glass fixtures exuded the perfect lighting
to complete the atmosphere, soft and rather romantic.

On one wall, there was an entertainment center that
boasted a large screen television, a DVD/CD player,
and a Playstation video game system.

Her eyes were irresistibly drawn to a set of french doors
that had to lead into the bedroom.

"So, what do you think?" Devlin asked, placing her on
her feet. "Told you it was quite something, didn't I?"

"You weren't kidding," she said, turning in a slow
circle. "Is this all for YOU?"

He nodded, slipping his arms around her from behind
and nuzzling her neck in way that made her weak in the
knees. "All for me," he murmured. "But if you're nice,
I'll be glad to share it with you."

Buffy leaned back in his embrace. "How nice do I have
to be?"

Devlin chuckled and spun her around. Kissing her deeply,
he explored her mouth with a thoroughness that made her
dizzy, the pulse in her throat keeping time with the rhythmic
thrusts of his tongue.

Buffy's hands moved over him, feeling the warmth of
his skin and the hard contours of his body.

"This is so damn good," he whispered, running his
hands through her hair. "Missed you SO much,
baby."

She melted in his arms, depending on him to keep
her on her feet. **Finally** she thought. **I'm
finally back where I should be...should have been,
all along...**

Clutching him even closer, she silently willed him to
take her through those french doors to his bed.

**Oh, God...please. Make love to me, Spike. I
can't stand to wait...not another minute...**

"Buffy?" His face was buried against the side of her
neck. "Sweetheart?"

"Hmmm?"
Title: Blue Eyed Devil
Author: Pattyanne
[email protected]
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS
characters belong to me.
Feedback: Love some, thanks!
Rating: Up to NC-17
Summary: AU. Spike Devlin is the
lead singer for the band 'Blue Eyed
Devil'. Buffy Summers is the local
preschool teacher he falls in love with
shortly before leaving for a nationwide
tour.






Part thirty-six...


San Francisco looked like a beautiful city.

As much as she could see of it through the black
tinted windows of yet another limousine, anyway.

After retrieving her luggage, Spike had led her through
the terminal to the waiting area outside. They hadn't been
standing at the curb for more than thirty seconds before
the shiny stretch limo pulled up. The driver practically
leapt from the car and ran around to deal with Buffy's
suitcase, while she herself was stowed inside the rear
door by her obviously amorous boyfriend, who couldn't
keep his hands to himself.

"What's with all the limousines?" she had asked
playfully, sliding all the way over to the far side of
the seat.

He'd made some smart ass comment about how highly
valued he was by the sponsors of the tour, then confessed
that his habitual lateness, combined with the fact that he
always got lost in a new city, had prompted them to keep
a car and driver at his disposal.

Following her to the other side of the car, he reached...only
to have her slip away and hop to the seats on the opposite
side.

Since being adorable always scored big points for him, he'd
folded his arms across his chest and pouted, stating how
long...the exact amount of days, hours and minutes...it had
been since he'd kissed her properly, and didn't she CARE that
he was slowly dying?

He'd stared sulkingly out the window, not saying a word until
he'd noticed her fiddling around with the complimentary bottle
of champagne provided by the limo service.

"Oh, no you don't!" had been his only comment before pouncing
on her and wrestling the bottle out of her hand. Through the
slight ringing in her ears, she'd heard him mutter something
about her being 'high enough' as it was, and that there was no
way in hell he was going to allow her to add anything alcoholic
to the mix until the pills she'd swallowed had worked their way
through her system.

She spent the rest of the ride amusing herself with all the
buttons and gadgets there were to play with. The television
flicked on and off, the windows slid up and back down, and the
stereo blared so loud that people on the street stopped to see
where the ruckus was originating from.

Once she discovered the controls for the sun roof,
nothing would do but that she open it up and stand up on the
seat to look around outside. The evening breeze was crisp
and went a long way towards clearing her muddled head,
but it wasn't until she felt Spike's hands sliding up her outer
thighs and beneath her skirt that the world suddenly dropped
into sharper focus.

"Hey!" she said indignantly, sitting back down on the
seat and peering suspiciously at him.

He just sat there like the most innocent of lambs. "Problem?"

"You were feeling me up!"

Spike shook his head. "You're imagining things," he
assured her. "Those pills have made your head a bit wonky."

She looked at him with her 'stern teacher' face. "Are
you telling the truth?"

"Would I lie to you, darling?"

Suppressing a smile, she popped back out of the sun-
roof just in time to see a cable car passing by.

On the count of three, she felt those warm and knowledgeable
hands again, this time on the inside of her slightly spread
thighs. Clearing her throat loudly, she glared down at him.

He was fast though, and his hands were already back on
his lap, clasped loosely. "What?"

"You did it again."

"Did what?"

"Felt me up."

"I didn't! Swear to God." He held his hands up, showing
them to her as if to say, 'See! They're right here, minding
their own business!, thank you very much!'

Returning her attention to the streets of San Francisco,
Buffy marveled over how much she'd changed in the last
week. Before meeting Spike Devlin, she would have jumped
out of the car, whether it was moving or not, rather than allow
a man to....

**Oh, my God! Is he...he's trying to pull down my under-
wear!!**

Her mother would drop dead if she knew what was
happening to her only child.

Although hardly a prude, Joyce Summers had been raised
in a household by parents who believed that there were certain
things a lady simply did not do, and she'd passed those lessons
on to her own daughter...who was fast forgetting most of them.


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


"Stop that!" she said sharply, kicking at him with one
foot. "I know what you're up to down there, you sneak."

Her skirt settled back around her legs for about ten
seconds. Trying not to wriggle, she folded her arms in
front of her and watched the parade of humanity walking
along the sidewalks and darting in and out of traffic.

"You know," he said from beneath her, "I'm really not
doing anything ungentlemanly. I know you're a modest little
thing and the last thing I want to do is embarrass you in
public."

Her skirt ruffled lightly, as though he was moving it one
up one micro-centimeter at a time.

"I'd never," he went on, "do anything you wouldn't want
me to do and I'm certainly not the kind of a bloke who'd
try and look up your skirts to see what you're wearing
and oh, good God...Buffy...can I just say that's the sexiest
thing I've ever seen in my life!"

She smiled. He'd discovered the scrap of black lace
and satin she was wearing that called itself a pair of
underpants. There was a cutout at the waistband, with
a tiny gold charm dangling in the center of it.

"Sweetheart....I know you're having a good time up there
checking out the city and all, but, do you think you could
come back down here, please?" he begged. "Unless you
WANT me to pull these down and take a little taste of you
where everyone can hear you scream. Is that what you want,
baby? You getting a bit kinky on me?"

Without a word, she dropped back down on the seat, and
found herself tackled into a prone position.

"Where did you get those naughty little things? Oh...they're
a little bit damp right here, aren't they?"

"Well, there's...there's this store...at the mall...it's...."

"It's what?"

"What? Oh! Uh....it's called...Leather...and Lace. I...oh!...I
shop on the....the lace side..."

"Really? I approve....God, that feels good...little harder,
babe...mmmm. You....you ever consider....trying the leather
side? Give me your hand....right there....yes...."

"There....there WAS this....red leather....oh, Spike...uh,
corset....sort of a thing...I saw. It....ahhh....it laced up....the
front, and it had....it had no...."

"Had no what, baby? Ah, yeah....harder!"

"No.....CROTCH!!"

With that, the limousine pulled into the round circular driveway
in front of the Mark Hopkins Hotel.


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


With her cheeks tinted crimson, Buffy kept a tight hold
of Spike's hand as he led her through the elegantly
appointed lobby of the hotel.

Despite the privacy glass in the limo, she just couldn't
shake the feeling that the driver had been a silent witness
to the antics in the passenger compartment. Something
about the way he'd smiled when he'd opened the door
just as they'd managed to compose themselves and
straighten their clothing.

Although she'd been able to climb out of the car and
smile politely at the man, escaping with MOST of her
dignity intact, she couldn't help hoping that a different
driver would conduct her back to the airport when it was
time for her to go.

In the elevator, as she watched the floor numbers fly
by, Spike took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"I'm really sorry about that, luv,"he said quietly. "I feel like
it's been forever since I touched you, and I guess I...I couldn't
help myself. You mad at me?"

One look at his face completely banished any "mad"
thoughts she may have had. Never had the boyish
charm been laid on quite so thick.

"I was there, too," she said, returning the gentle pressure
of his hand. Glancing back at the red digital numbers,
she became alarmed when she saw them whoosh past
twelve. "Just out of curiosity...how far up are we going?"

"All the way, luv," Devlin grinned broadly. "All the way."

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


The elevator glided to a smooth stop on the 17th floor.

When the doors slid open, Buffy stepped out, the heels
of her shoes sinking in plush carpeting.

"Pretty fancy," she whispered automatically, using
a tone she normally reserved for libraries and churches.

Spike inserted a key card in a slot on a door bearing
a small gold plaque with the words, 'Presidential Suite'
engraved on it.

Before she could place one foot in the room
Devlin set her suitcase down just inside the door, then
scooped her up in his arms and carried her inside.

"I thought only brides got carried over thresh holds,"
she laughed.

Closing the door behind him with his foot, he just
smiled and shrugged. "Give me time," he replied
suggestively.

Whether he was teasing or not was anybody's
guess.


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


The Presidential Suite was both amazing and
frightening at the same time. It was so luxurious,
so expensively decorated, that Buffy was almost
tempted to take off her shoes and leave them by the
door so as not to risk dirtying the carpet.

The door opened into a formal entry hall. There was
a closet on one side, and a small guest 'powder
room' on the other.

Beautifully furnished, there were glass topped gold
leaf coffee tables and lounge chairs with matching
ottomans. She saw floor to ceiling windows that had
to provide a spectacular view of the city, both at night
and during the day.

Satin white glass fixtures exuded the perfect lighting
to complete the atmosphere, soft and rather romantic.

On one wall, there was an entertainment center that
boasted a large screen television, a DVD/CD player,
and a Playstation video game system.

Her eyes were irresistibly drawn to a set of french doors
that had to lead into the bedroom.

"So, what do you think?" Devlin asked, placing her on
her feet. "Told you it was quite something, didn't I?"

"You weren't kidding," she said, turning in a slow
circle. "Is this all for YOU?"

He nodded, slipping his arms around her from behind
and nuzzling her neck in way that made her weak in the
knees. "All for me," he murmured. "But if you're nice,
I'll be glad to share it with you."

Buffy leaned back in his embrace. "How nice do I have
to be?"

Devlin chuckled and spun her around. Kissing her deeply,
he explored her mouth with a thoroughness that made her
dizzy, the pulse in her throat keeping time with the rhythmic
thrusts of his tongue.

Buffy's hands moved over him, feeling the warmth of
his skin and the hard contours of his body.

"This is so damn good," he whispered, running his
hands through her hair. "Missed you SO much,
baby."

She melted in his arms, depending on him to keep
her on her feet. **Finally** she thought. **I'm
finally back where I should be...should have been,
all along...**

Clutching him even closer, she silently willed him to
take her through those french doors to his bed.

**Oh, God...please. Make love to me, Spike. I
can't stand to wait...not another minute...**

"Buffy?" His face was buried against the side of her
neck. "Sweetheart?"

"Hmmm?"

"I have to go."



TBC.....

Feedback keeps my going!
"I have to go."



TBC.....

Feedback keeps my going!

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