Title: I'm With the Band

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Austin Powers/Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Pairing: Scott Evil/Oz, Austin/Devon (peripheral)

Status: Finished

Sequel/Series: The Evil Series

Archive: Yes, but tell me where

Disclaimer: Neither (snicker) of these cute guys are mine, and I didn't make any money off this. Back, back, legalites!

Summary: Dingos Ate My Baby have a gig (almost) on the Las Vegas strip, and Oz gets himself a VERY familiar looking groupie.

Warnings: One HELL of a long sentence in the first paragraph.

Notes: The Brady reference: In an episode of The Brady Bunch, Greg got a car, did something stupid (might have been something dangerous in the car), and his dad forbade him to drive his car for a week. Well, he just HAD to get some concert tickets, so he borrowed his friend's car. Dad was ready to get righteous on him when he came up with, "No, Dad, I DIDN'T disobey you. You said not to drive my car. I didn't drive MY car, I drove my FRIEND'S car." Dad condemned him to live up to the EXACT meaning of everything he said. Personally, if I'd ever tried that crap on MY dad (or Mom, for that matter), I'd just now be regaining consciousness.

More Notes: I dunno what happened in the canon Buffyverse, but in the Evilverse Dingos Ate My Baby split up, and Devon and Oz went on as a duet. The Buddy Holly reference is to the heavy, dorky glasses frames Austin wears. BH had the same sort. I love 'Tyler' by The Toadies. It starts out sounding like a typical 'I love her, and we're so cool' song, then you realize it's about stalking, and a breaking and entering that's about to degenerate into rape. Very dark. What can I say? I'm twisted--I also like their 'My Sweet Angel', which is about a seriel killer sweet talking his intended victim.

Rating: NC-17

I'm With the Band

By Scribe

Oz was trying to do too many things at once. He was holding a telephone receiver to his ear, stuffing a finger in the OTHER ear in an attempt to muffle the sounds of traffic, drunks, and hookers that were washing into the phone booth from the street outside, doing a quick mental tally of the meager change left on the shelf before him and trying to figure out how much longer he could keep talking, and simultaneously he was verbally attempting to rip his so called 'agent' a new one over the phone line (but it's not that easy when you're in Vegas and trying to reach
California).

Morry was once again trying to worm his way out from under his client's wrath. "I didn't say the club was ON the strip, Oz. I said it was a big Las Vegas strip club, and it is."

"Fuck that 'exact wording' crap, Morry! Greg Brady didn't get away with that shit, and you're not going to, either. You knew damn good and well that we thought we were gonna be playing ON the strip, not FOR strippers. And calling this place a club is like calling a bag of stale Fritos and a flat diet Mountain Dew haute cuisine."

"You're getting paid, aren't you?"

"If we get good tips we might be able to actually sleep somewhere other than the van. The owner says he hired us because his sound system is shot, and we were cheaper than having it repaired. If I rob the place before we leave, we might have enough for gas to get back to Sunnydale so I can bite you in the ass."

"I'm not that way, Oz."

"You would be after I bit you."

"Are we talking about the same thing?"

"Probably not. I've met a lot of differnt kinds of bloodsuckers in my life, Morry, but you..."

"All right, so it's not what you expected. Well, you weren't what they were expecting either, were you?"

"They were expecting a full band instead of a duo."

"They signed Dingos Ate My Baby, they got Dingos Ate My Baby."

"Yeah, but you neglected to tell them that Josh and Booboo left the group just after they hired us. The dickwad cut our fee in half, for which I guess I can't blame him. However I hear that YOU got your full cut. And speaking of cut, when I get my hands on you..."

"Puh-lee-az dee-posit anuthah two dollahs fowah tha next thuh-ree mi-nuts."

Oz stared at the receiver. "Crap, if I did that, I wouldn't eat tonight. Screw it. Your ass is mine
when I get back, Morry, but not in any way you're gonna enjoy." He slammed the receiver down, hoping that Morry had it tight against his ear when the crash came.

He opened the booth door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The van was parked against the curb, and Devon was leaning against it, watching the hookers who were out trolling. Oz went over and slumped beside him. "Look all you want, dude. If they aren't passing out freebies there's no way we're gonna be able to afford to BUY any. We're stuck here till we can earn enough to finanace our way back."

Devon scratched his chin. "That could take awhile." He sighed. "Oh, well, there are worse places to be busted than Vegas. If we can scrounge up some touristy looking clothes we can probably scam food from some of the casinos. I hear they have all kinds of free buffets and bar snacks and drinks and shit."

"No free shit." Oz bumped his shoulder into Devon's. "You're gonna have to cut your shit consumption back, Dev. Find some sort of natural high. We need to save, and it's too big a chance that you might try to score off a narc around here."

Devon kicked the cement dispiritedly. "All right, I'll ration."

Oz rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at the sky. A narrow silver sickle of moon rode overhead. "Fuck. Well, at least we have a few weeks to try to build our nut back up."

Devon glanced up. "You mean before you go on the rag?" Oz was 'unavailable' for anywhere from four days to a week each month. Devon didn't know WHY, and he wasn't going to ask. It was Oz's business, and if he wanted to talk about it, he would. All Devon knew was that Oz was a cool guy who could do a lot with four or five chords, who was good about helping you out of shit. He was also a hell of a fuck buddy.

"Somethin' like that." Oz cast a jaundice eye at Pussycat Pagoda, shaking his head. An oriental themed strip club. Might have been something if they'd carried the theme over into the strippers, but they sported more white blonde hair than the Angora section at a cat show. At leas the cats' hair was natural. "I'll get the drum machine, you get the amplifier."

As they hauled what he laughingly liked to call his 'system' into the club, Oz got his butt pinched twice by some of the girls who were arriving for the evening shift. *Shit, I wonder if this is going to be a problem? The ones who aren't old enough to be my mom are more flat chested than I am. When that's what I want, I'll get a guy.*

They set up their instruments, and Devon said, "Oz? Maybe it's just as well that we're gonna have to sleep in the van. We can take the gear back in it with us. I don't think I'd feel safe, leavin' it laying around here."

"You got that right. Oh, well." Oz plugged his guitar in, and sourly examined the sparse crowd of
boozers. Well, it made sense--they'd probably came more for the booze than the boobies.

One of the girls wandered over. "Look, don't play anythin' too, like, bouncy, ya know?" She adjusted her bosom. "I just had 'em done, an' they're a little tender, so I don't want 'em floppin' too much."

"How about a waltz?" Oz deadpanned. He got a blank look. "Gotcha."

She made a kiss at him. "Thanks, sweetie. You're cute. Hang around after I get off, an' I'll let ya
help me pull the bills outta my g-string."

"I palpitate with anticipation." As she walked off, smirking, Devon gave Oz a questioning look. He shrugged. "It may be the only chance I have here to get my hands on some tips."

*****

"You're not fooling me, Powers. The only damn reason you want to go to this place is because one, they have semi-naked chicks, and two, it has 'Pussycat' in the name."

"No, really, luv! That had NOTHING to do with it." Scott stared at him. "Well, maybe a little." Scott crossed his arms. "Oh, all right. I went through the yellow pages looking for Pussycat listings. But look!" He pointed at the life sized photo of what was supposed to be one of the strippers. Scott had his doubts about how recent it was--the woman in the photo had a beehive hairdo and Cleopatra style eye makeup.

"May I just say 'ick'? If she's still working here, it'll be like watching my Mom peel. I'm kinky, but I'm not THAT kinky."

"No, no! Not her. Look." There was a flier tacked over the exotic dancer's less than exotic chest.
"Live music."

Scott squinted at the paper. "Dingos Ate My Baby? Okay, they get points for a cool name." He sighed. "What the hell. But next time I choose where we go, and believe me, it's going to cost you plenty."

They entered the club. Someone, sometime, had tried to be a little stylish. There was a gilt pagodar frame around the little stage that the girl's ground (grinded?) on. There was what had once been red flocked wallpaper on the walls. That probably hadn't been such a good idea, as the fuzzy nap tended to absorb and hold cigarette smoke, alcohol fumes, sweat, and the occacional upchuck by drunks who couldn't quite turn their heads in time. The rest of the place was just as charming. Luckily the lighting was so dim that it was hard to make out details.

"Atmospheric, isn't it, luv?" Austin asked as they sat at a table.

"If by that you mean dirty, smelly, and dark, yeah." He squinted at the stage. "If any of the dancers had a tan they'd just disappear into the background. Luckily they're all about as dark as bread dough, so they glow in the dark enough to be visible."

"Hey!" Austin looked around, Scott didn't--he knew what was coming. "Not you, Buddy Holly. Junior, there. Let's see some ID, kid."

"Should I drop my pants, or do you want to count my rings?"

"Smart ass. License, or DMV ID card, and it better not have been fucked with."

Scott sighed, taking out his wallet as he walked to the bar. "I fuck with many things, but not small laminated cards." He showed his ID and stood there, looking pissed, while the bartender compared him to the phote. Luckily, 'pissed off' was exactly the expression Scott had when they'd snapped the photo. The Department of Motor Vehicles HAD that effect on people.

"Okay, I guess you're legal."

"Would you call my dad and tell him that? I like to rub it in at every opportunity."

The bartender blinked, then looked at the name on the card--before he'd only been concerned with the photo and the DOB. His face paled. "Uh, sorry, Mr. Evil. You aren't going to, like, tell your dad, and get him to, like, blow me up, are you?"

Scott shrugged, taking back his card. "Why should I give him any fun? Gimme two Buds." The bartender set the bottles on the bar, but pulled them back when Scott reached for them, then rubbed his thumb and forefinger together in the 'gimme money' gesture. "Austin, get over here." He looked back at the bartender. "He's buying."

"Does HE know that?"

"He should by now." Scott took the beers and passed Austin on the way. "Take care of that, wouldya?" Scott was heading toward the table they'd been at when the band started up, and he glanced over, then skidded to a halt.

Well, 'band' was kind of a grandious term for a singer, a guitarist, and a drum machine, but they were doing okay. They were doing 'Tyler' by The Toadies--a seriously twisted song, especially considering where they were playing. It suggested an attitude that drew Scott over.

They were playing off to the side of the stage, and Scott plopped down in a table near them. The singer was a tall, dark haired guy, and he was getting into the song. Scott scoped him out, nodding to himself. Not bad. He turned his attention to the guitarist accompanying him and singing backup wherever indicated.

"Whoa!"

*****

"Duane?"

*Oh, crap! The clientel is TALKING to me! I better ignore him.* Oz kept his eyes on the floor. In this place, anyone who thought you were someone named Duane was probably redneck, drunk, and looking to collect a bad debt.

"Duane, it's me--Scott. Where's Blaine?"

*Blaine? I guess I better look.* He looked.

"Whoa!"

"That's what I said." Oz was looking at himself. Well, maybe looking at himself through a filter. The hair was black instead of red, and the clothes were a little different, but that was pretty much it. The guy said, "Dude, you changed your hair! Looks g-o-o-d. Why the hell didn't you look me up and let me know you were back in town? I'm in the book."

"Hey, quit botherin' the band!" the bartender yelled.

The dark haired boy grinned at Oz, flipping the bird back at the bartender without even looking back. "Whataya say, stud? Am I botherin' you?" He quickly wiggled his tongue at Oz.

Oz felt a zing of interest below the belt. "Hell, no." They'd come to a musical bridge, and Devon was watching the interaction with a great deal of interest. "Is he bothering YOU, Devon?"

"Only in the best possible way," Devon responded. "Scuse me. Next verse." His voice rose in almost a scream. Scott's hair would have risen in spikes even WITH OUT the styling gel, hearing that, as the singer growled out the rest of the song.

Austin came up behind Scott, and Scott absently handed him a beer. Unfortunately, the club manager had followed Austin. "You're blockin' the band, Punkboy. Siddown."

Scott cast a scornful glance at the dozen or so boozers. "Look, man, it would take a fire to get
their eyes off the titties."

"All right, howsabout I chuck your ass out just 'cause you piss me off?"

"Have you got a pool?"

"Huh? Yeah, I do. What the fuck has that got to do with anything?"

Scott turned a cold look on him. "How'd you like to have it filled with mutated sea bass?"

"Look, if you're t'reatenin' me..."

The bartender hurried over and hissed in his ear, "Butch, that's the Evil kid! I saw his ID."

"So?"

"So? The last guy who chucked him from a club came home to an infestation of gerbils the size of pit bulls. He says mutated sea bass? He can do it."

Butch cleared his throat. "My mistake. Anythin' I can do for you?"

"You can buy the rest of my beer while I'm here."

"Sure."

He hooked a thumb at Oz and Devon. "And my friends' beer."

"Uh, sure."

"Good guy. I'll spread word to the henchmen that this is a good place to drop their paychecks." He grinned at Oz. "I'll just park it over here and bask in your talent."

Oz started the opening for My Sweet Angel. "Silver tongued devil." Scott did the tongue move again. Oz missed a chord. It didn't really make much differnce.

Dingos Ate My Baby played for another hour. Austin wandered over occasionally to stuff dollar bills into the g-string of one or another of the strippers, but Scott never left the table. He propped his chin in his hands and gazed at Oz with devoted concentration. He made sure that the bartender sent the band a couple of rounds. Oz and Devon held up the bottles in appreciation when they got them. Scott stared at Oz and licked the neck of his bottle. Oz became glad
that he kept his guitar slung low.

Finally the bartender came over and said, "You guys can call it off for the night."

Oz frowned. "But we're supposed to play for another three hours."

The bartender shrugged. "Don't worry about your pay--you'll get the full amount."

Devon frowned. "But dude, how are the girls gonna bounce their boobies in time? Is one of 'em gonna sinc a cappella or something?"

The bartender indicated Scott, who wiggled his fingers at him. "This guy is loaning us his portable CD player and a shit load of CDs. It's mostly heavy metal, but that'll work. It isn't as if the girls are, like, Paula Abdul or Madonna."

Oz and Devon went over to Scott's table as the bartender started a Slayer CD. The girls on the stage looked at each other, shrugged, and continued to shimmy with no visible change in style. Austin came over to join them. "Scott, baby, how about introducing me to your friends?"

"Guys, this is Austin, my sorta boyfriend. Austin, this, I know, is Devon, but THIS...?"

"Oz."

Handshakes all around. Austin did the eyebrow lift. "So, Oz. Lions and tigers and bears, eh?"

"More like demons and werewolves and vamps."

Austin tried to look suave and managed confused. "Oh, my."

Scott leaned close to Oz, whispering in his ear. "Look, I'd kinda like to get better acquainted, but
Austin is horny from watching the bimbos, and he's gonna be harder to shake than fly paper coated with superglue. Can you think of a way...?"

"Devon."

Devon put down his last beer. "Oz?"

Oz pointed at Austin. "Sic 'im."

Devon grinned. "My pleasure." He leaned toward Austin. "Hey, hipster dude. Wanna go out to the van for some blow?"

Austin looked shocked. "Baby! I do NOT do cocaine! Just say no, and all that."

Devon put his hand on Austin's crotch. "That ain't the type of blow I was talkin' about."

Austin sat up very straight--all of him. "Um... Scott?"

"We came in my car--I can find my way home. Have fun."

Devon stood up. "Gimme your guitar, Oz, and me and Austin will haul the stuff out to the van.

Austin frowned. "Just a minute, baby. My back..." Devon stroked his crotch again. "is as strong as an ox." He grabbed the amplifier. "Come on, and I'll demonstrate."

Scott watched Austin waddle out after Devon. "Sooo..."

"So the van is occupied, but we have something in the back that they refer to as our room. I'm kinda worried about leaving the drum machine unattended till they get back, though, and knowing Devon, that may be awhile. He'll probably just pitch the stuff in, grab your friend, drag him in, and jump his bones."

"Austin will be so hurt. He wants to be loved for his mind. Just a sec." Scott found a Dingos flier on another table and went to the bar. He took the bartender's pen, scribbled on the paper, then came back. He stuck the paper on the drum machine. It said 'THIS PROPERTY PROTECTED BY EVIL SECURITY. STEAL IT AND SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE (HOWEVER SHORT IT IS) LOOKING OVER YOUR SHOULDER'.

"Is that gonna work?" Oz asked doubtfully.

"It will in Vegas. Where's the room?"

It turned out to be slightly smaller than your average walk in closet. There was a vanity table that would have held cosmetics for the dancers at one time. Right now it held an open tube of dried up lipstick, several packets of soy sauce and mustard from past fast food meals, an empty coke bottle, and a red condiment squeeze dispenser that must have been stolen from a local hamburger joint. Why, Scott didn't even want to think. A love seat had somehow been crammed into it. Scott suspected that the room must have been built AROUND it, because he sure as hell couldn't figure out how they'd gotten it in there.

If the door had opened inward there would have been a real problem. As it was they both managed to squeeze in, then Oz shut the door. Scott reached past him and locked it, then grabbed him and fell back on the little sofa, dragging him down. "Ever done it with yourself?"

"Yeah, but I was alone at the time."

Scott wrapped his legs around Oz's waist and started humping up against him. "Dude, do you believe in dopplegangers?"

Oz froze, then said carefully, "What makes you ask that?"

"Uh, aside from us? Cause I met a guy who could be our triplet a while back."

"Oh. That would be Duane?"

"Yep. I wish I'd gotten his phone number. I'd PAY for him to fly down, so we could get together." He paused in his undulations. "You're not prejudiced against multiples, are you?"

"Fuck no. Ask Angel, Spike, and Xander." He kissed Scott, and there was a very vigorous bout of tongue wrestling.

They surfaced, and Scott gasped, "You sound like you lead an interesting life."

"You have no idea. But there are different kinds of interesting. There's an oriental curse that says 'may you live in interesting times'. I got a request."

"You're the muscician, but I take requests, too."

"Can we switch places?"

Scott's forehead wrinkled. "You want to bottom?"

"You mind?"

"Let me consider... No."

"Well, let loose so I can stand up."

"Damn. Okay." Scott unhooked his legs, and Oz stood beside the seat, undoing his pants. The second his zipper hit bottom Scott reached out and jerked the pants down. Before Oz could blink Scott had hold of his dick, and then half of it was down his throat. When Oz squeaked, Scott pulled off and said, "Look, I let you go. You owe me something in return, right?"

"That was NOT a protest."

"Good. Cause let's face it, dude, you CAN'T back up out of my reach in this place." Scott bent to his task again, slurping enthusiastically.

Oz groaned as he was engulfed with hot wetness. "Oh, shit." His eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. "I finally got a groupie. Thank you, God."

Scott pulled off and looked up. "I want you to know, dude, that you're the first muscian I've ever done this for. I got backstage for Corgi and the Nipple Clamps AND Sinkhole, and all I gave them was handjobs." He wrinkled his nose. "Grunge bands." He slapped Oz's ass smartly, then stood up, too.

Since it was such a tight fit, that pushed Oz up against the door, which was fine by both of them.
Scott pushed his pants and Maurice briefs down past his knees, then braced his hands on either side of Oz, leaned in to him, and shoved his own hard-on against the guitarist's erection.

Oz moaned again. "Look, if you wanna fuck me through the door, I'll have to turn around, and frankly, I'd rather have it doggy style."

"Can do." He closed his arms around Oz, laid a liplock on him, and they shuffled, turning again.
When they had switched places, he let go. "Get on the couch, and I should have enough room to get my drawers the rest of the way off."

Oz started to get on the sofa. Scott said sharply, "Watch the shoes when you pick your feet up, guy! Leave my nuts intact or neither one of us will have any fun."

"Got it." Oz scrambled up on his hands and knees.

"Oh, fuck! Why didn't I get the supplies out of my pockets before I dropped my pants!" Scott started to try to reach his pants on the floor. When he tried to bend, his butt bumped against the door. He tried sqatting, and his knees bumped the sofa. This brought his face close to Oz's butt, and he took the opportunity to give it an admiring nip, but it didn't bring him close enough to his pants. "Ya know, I think we would have had more space if we'd gone out to the van. Wait a minute, maybe..."

He hooked a foot under his pants and jerked his foot up, hooking his knee. The pants lifted lightly, and he grabbed them. Oz, head twisted back to observe, grinned. "Smooth move."

"And Dad said practicing Hakisak would never be any practical use to me." Scott fished in his pockets and came up with a condom and a tube of lubricant. "Bingo."

"You're so cool, Evil."

Scott had donned the condom and was now squeezing gel onto his fingers. "Thanks, but wait till I really do something to deserve it." He spread Oz's buttocks, and started to rub the gel around his anus. "Like maybe this."

Oz took a deep breath. "Whoo. Someone who knows what he's doing. Man, I gotta pay karma back by, like, building shelter for the homeless or some shit." Scott slid a finger in, and Oz panted, "I suppose I could sign an organ donar card."

Scott reached down with his other hand and gripped Oz's cock, stroking, "Can I get on the list to receive this one?" He slipped a second finger in and worked both hands industriously. "Ya know, the next time Fat Bastard tells me to go fuck myself, I'll be able to say with near honesty 'been there, done that'."

Oz pushed back. "You haven't yet," he complained.

"Don't you want another finger?"

"If you insist." He hummed happily as Scott worked a third finger into him. He yelped when Scott found his prostate. "You got good hands, man. Do you play an instrument?"

"No." Scott sounded pleased. "Do you think I should?"

"I can teach you three chords before I go."

"Will that do much good?"

"It works for me."

Scott pulled his hand free. "Okay. Now I gotta get up there with you." He tried. And tried. He managed to get one leg up on the sofa, and was half laying on top of Oz. "Oz! Quit bucking, guy! I'll never get in at this rate." He gave up. "SHIT! I can't get my knees on either side of yours, and if you spread them for me to kneel inside, YOU'LL slip off."

"There HAS to be a way."

"Well, think fast. More blood is leaving my brain for my dick every second, and I'm not going to be able to speak English much longer."

"Back up as far as you can." Scott did. Oz turned to face the sofa back, kneeling up and grabbing it. His butt was presented at a perfect level. "Try that."

"Don't mind if I do." He moved up the last couple of inches and parted Oz's buttocks again. "I think..." He nudged against the other boy's slick opening. "this will work." He pushed.

Oz shuddered as he felt the hot thickness spreading and filling him. "I never have been much of a fan of the work ethic, but in this case I make an exception. Work it, man, work it!"

Scott did. He figured, in fact, that if he could find a PAYING job like this, he'd become a type A
personality and work himself to death before he was thirty, but he'd die a millionair, with a smile on his face. Scott stroked the other boy's back as he fucked him. "D-u-d-e! If I'm as good as this, no WONDER my lovers are so happy. I'm good!"

"And so modest," Oz panted. "If try to bend down more, can you keep in?"

"I may have to stand on my toes, and you may get a kink in your back, but I guess so." Scott never stopped moving. "Why?"

"Cause I think if I can tilt my pelvis just a LITTLE..." Oz bent his back a little more, which
raised his butt just a little, and yelled on Scott's next stroke. "GOT IT!"

Scott grinned, "Ah, the old magic bump! Screw Aladdin's lamp--rub the prostate and you get a trick better than anything a genie could give you."

The conversation degenerated into gasps, obscenities, moans, and a surprising number of growls on Oz's part. During the height of the hump there was a rap on the door. They heard the voice of Butch, the manager. "Hey, Band Boy! No pets in the club."

Oz mustered his wits as best he could with Scott pounding into his ass and gulped, "No pets."

"Like I said..."

"He means he doesn't have a pet, dickweed," Scott called. He jerked his hips hard, and Oz growled again, nails scraping at the sofa.

"Don't try to kid me. You got a dog in there," said Butch. "You haul some stray in off the street?"

"I'm sure he belongs to someone," panted Oz, "but he doesn't have a collar, and I'm fuckin' keeping him, if I can." *gggrrrrrroooowwwl*

"What the hell?! Is that a rottweiller, or what?" Now Butch sounded alarmed.

Oz started shoved back at Scott. He was so vigorous that Scott got bumped back against the door. He held on to Oz, and dragged back till the other boy's knees slid off the cushions. But Oz was agile, and landed on his feet with Scott still inside him. He threw himself backward. Scott crashed into the door, with Oz flattening him, driving his cock deeper than ever.

This time Scott growled. Oz howled, long and loud. Scott hadn't lost his grip, but the jarring of the sudden movement made him give Oz a long, very tight, stroking squeeze. The howl wavered as Oz came, bathing Scott's busy fingers with his sperm. At the same time his ass squeezed, and Scott came, too. He grabbed Oz, hugging him hard, and actually managing to lift his toes off the floor as he filled the rubber.

When the ringing left their ears they heard Butch in the hallway, babbling, "Hang on, kids! I'll call Animal Control! Uh... uh... 911! Oh, shit, why did I insist on having a pay phone back here? I just KNOW someone's gonna find some way to sue me over this..." His voice faded as he ran down the hall.

Scott pulled out. Oz had draped his pants over the sofa, so he got to them easily and stood on the sofa to begin putting them on. "Scott, I think it might be a good idea if we book before the Five-Oh shows up and we have to explain what was going on."

Scott got his pants. Since Oz was up on the sofa he had enough room to dress again. "That's a good idea. Tell you what, you get in the van and follow me. I'll lead you out to the Evil Lair, and you can lay low for a little while."

"I hate to give up this gig, ratty as it is. I don't know how we're gonna get money to make it back home."

"I can take care of that. I'll get you a gig playing in the henchmen's breakroom."

"Your henchmen get live entertainment?"

"They will after I ask Number Two." Scott grinned as he buckled his belt. "I can't WAIT to introduce you to him! His cufflinks will snap."

Oz opened the door to the hall and peeked out. "Okay, the coast is clear to the front, but I don't know if we're gonna be able to make it out of here past Butch."

"I got an idea. Are you real attached to that shirt?"

"I don't wear them that long. No, I'm not attached to it."

"Good." Scott reached out and ripped the neck of the shirt.

"You know, if you'd wanted to tear my clothes off it would have been more appropriate when we first came in." Scott ripped his own shirt. "I could do that for you."

"Maybe when we get back to the lair." Scott grabbed the red squeeze bottle and hefted it. "Good. I'd say there's at least a cup left in here." He pointed the bottle down at the ground and shook it till a drops of ketchup splattered on the floor. "Now."

He pointed it at the love seat and whipped his arm at it, squeezing. Ketchup splashed over the seat in long streams. Oz, puzzled, said, "I never really got into the trashing the room bit, but if you want, I can kick one of the legs off the table."

"Not necessary." Scott pointed the bottle at Oz and streaked him generously, making sure to splash his face.

"Hey!"

"That's it--yell. You're injured." He doused his own shirt. "OMIGAWD! Help! He's a killer, a killer!" He squirted ketchup in his hands, then rubbed it on his face. "Yell, man!"

Oz, finally getting it, grinned, and screamed. "AAAAAHHHH! AAAAAHHHH! Jesus, he's got my hand! Help, somebody!" He scrubbed his hands on his shirt, rubbing it in, then smearing his face, too.

"Ready?"

"Willing and able."

"You'll prove that back at the Lair. If Devon is through with Austin, we'll drop him off at his pad."

"You don't want to bring your boyfriend along?"

"Dude, he'd insist on playing Burt Bacharach."

"Okay."

"One, two, three..."

Scott and Oz burst from the room, screaming like banshees (and Oz KNEW from banshees. They raced down the hall, past startled dancers, babbling and clutching at various parts of their bodies (Scott managed to grab his crotch as they pounded past Butch). Everyone had heard the howling, and the manager's somewhat garbled description of what could only be a vicious pack of feral pit bull/Doberman cross breeds savaging and eating the two poor, innocent young man who had somehow gotten trapped with them in the dressing room. The club cleared very quickly. The locals on the street were vastly entertained, because the dancers didn't bother to stop for wraps. The cops who had come in answer to the 911 were too distracted rounding them up to notice the
boys hopping into the van. The animal control officers were also distracted by them, chasing the
girls down while cheerfully singing a chorus of 'Who Let The Dogs Out'.

As Oz started the van, Scott glanced back into the van. Devon, lying on top of a snoring Austin, (both of them naked) grinned back at him. "Hey!" Scott complained. "Did he let you fuck him?"

Devon nodded, looking vaguely anxious. "I thought... Does that bother you, man?"

"It sure as hell does! That bastard NEVER bottoms for me! I think I'm gonna have to dump him, at least for awhile, to teach him a lesson. He DEFINITELY gets dropped at his place. If he apologizes nicely for holding out on me, MAYBE I'll let him get dressed first. Anyway, Devon, you and Oz will be staying at my place, and I'm fixing up a gig for Virtucon, so you don't have to go back to that rat trap again."

Devon's grin widened. "Cool! How far is this guy's place? Do I have time for another quickie?"

"We have to go to my ride, then I'll lead you guys by the scenic route."

"Very cool." Devon shifted and started pumping. Austin smiled in his sleep. Scott muttered.

"Hey, Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"That mutated sea bass thingy? Can you really do that?"

"Sure."

"Can you work over distance?"

"We have Virtucon outlets all over the place. Sure. Why?"

"Well, ya see, there's this guy in California named Morry, and he has a swimming pool. Do you do jacuzzis, too?"

END