All About Spike - Plain Version
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Chapter: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
Sequel to Dangerous
Sequel to "Dangerous", post-Season 7. Set 30 years after the events of the previous story. Rated NC-17
Thanks to my beautiful beta, Julia, my intrepid victims, Sabina Blue and Surfal666, and to the LiveJournal Community for their encouragement and support.
Two hours later, they’d sorted most of the wreckage, made their plans. Dawn was bouncing around to whatever crap music she was into this year, happy to be reassured of his devotion. Spike smiled when she glanced his way, stole kisses when she passed too near. He was still wary of her mood - she was related to Buffy, after all, so she could turn on a dime - but he felt better. Clearer. Knew what needed doing, knew how to do it. It was what he did best - take care of his girl. Didn’t matter that he didn’t burn for her, did it? She was his, wanted him and nobody else. Past time to stop wanting what he couldn’t have.
He got up and headed for the shower. Leaned against the wall, letting the water sluice over him, trying to make peace. Dawn needed him to kill, he'd kill. He might be damned, but at least she wouldn't be alone.
When he came out, she was already dressed, tarted up in an outfit she knew he liked, red leather and black laces, tall black boots making her tower over him. Could see every inch of her, the pants were so tight. He came up behind her, ran his hand appreciatively over her ass. "You look tasty," he murmured.
"You would know," she replied with a grin. She swept her eyes over him, frowned a bit. "You're not going to wear that, are you?"
"What I always wear." He glanced down at his clothes - black denim, cotton, leather - and shrugged. "What's wrong with it?"
"You've been wearing it for what, 60 years? That's what's wrong with it."
"Found what works and I'm sticking with it." He strode to the door, holding out his hand to her. "Let's go, pet." She rolled her eyes, but followed.
When the cell phone rang again, they were already on their way downtown.
She'd picked a fetish club; open late. It sat in what might have been a seedy district, if there'd actually been any businesses left in the empty storefronts all around. In the back of his mind, Spike gauged the suitability of each one for use as a lair - been awhile, but there was always the possibility that they'd have to leave the apartment in a hurry. Always had a backup plan, just in case. That was the one enduring lesson he'd taken out of Czechoslovakia; he'd never let his woman get hurt like that again. He wasn't a fool; he did learn from his mistakes. Sometimes.
The bike coasted to a stop 'round back of the club. It was relatively early, but the place was already packed; the music vibrated through the bricks. In the old days, they'd have gone in and just hunted right inside, propping their victims in the corner, or shoving them into a bathroom stall. In the old days, he and Dru never stayed anywhere very long. Dawn wanted to stay here, they had to be more careful.
The shadows were thick a few streets away, empty streets and abandoned shops meant plenty of hiding places - and plenty of parking. They didn't have to wait long for the club crowd to spill one street over. They were already moving when the doors of the car opened up, clasped hands swinging.
The couple getting out of the car didn't even notice them, at first, or didn't consider them a threat. Either way, they looked like a safe bet. The woman climbed out first, bunching up her skirts as she stepped up onto the curb. She stood, waiting, dangling a collar and lead from one hand. The man took a minute to get out, stooping to lock the doors. Much taller than she was, he looked massive under a long, black duster. Spike smiled. "Nice coat."
Startled, the guy looked up at him; probably hadn't heard them walk up. "Thanks." His gaze flicked over Spike and Dawn, and he relaxed a bit. "Same to you."
In a conversational tone, Spike said, "Hey, we're looking for this club - friend sent us down here, and we got all turned around. Dawn, sweetheart, what's the name again?"
"Decay. Do you know where it is?" She teetered a bit on her heels, pretending to lose her balance. "Whoops. Not used to these boots, yet." The small woman smiled at her.
"We're headed over there, actually. Hang on, let me hook up Sabine's collar, and we'll walk you over," the big man said.
"Sabine? Nice name. I take it you're Griffin, then." The couple spared him a blank look. He didn't know why he tried, nobody ever got his bloody references.
"Uh, no, actually, I'm Fred."
"Yeah. I'm Spike, and this is Dawn."
"So this is your first time down to Decay?" Sabine asked Dawn.
"Yeah," Dawn lied. "Sounds like fun."
"It is; they've got really great music, and everyone wears the most wonderful clothes."
"I can see that." Dawn smiled. "I like your corset." She ran a finger over the thick green-and-black brocade, up to where Sabine's nipple peeked over the top, not quite brushing the silver ring that pierced it. "Did it hurt?"
"The piercing? Nah, not really."
Dawn smiled to herself; it would in a minute.
Fred finished hooking the lead around his girlfriend's neck, and glanced curiously at Spike. "So, you get your coat around here? I bought mine over at The Closet before it closed, but it's just a copy of an older kind. Take a while for me to rough it up. Yours looks great, though - is it vintage?"
"That it is," Spike said. "Been a bitch to keep it supple, the last few years, but worth it, I suppose." He slid Dawn a sly wink, let a smirk play over his lips. "Lot of memories in this coat."
"So where'd you get it?"
"Off a girl."
"Oh." Fred took in the hungry look passing between Spike and Dawn, and quickly moved to go. "Well, if you're ready, we'll walk you over." He turned and stepped away from them, Spike falling in behind him to block his view of the women. Just like riding a bike, he supposed.
Talking with Spike, thinking of fashion, Fred missed Dawn's whispered question to his girl.
"Aren't you afraid something might happen?" Dawn tilted her head and leaned closer, finger still hovering near the edge of Sabine's bodice.
"What, you mean, like it getting infected? One of my girlfriends had that happen - she said it hurt like a bitch, but antibiotics cleared it up. She didn't have to take the piercing out, or anything. You thinking of getting one?"
Dawn laughed. "Me? No way. I'd be afraid, that, you know, something like...this would happen." Lightning-fast, her fingers grasped the silver ring and pulled. Hard. There was a gasp, a wet, tearing sound, and Sabine loosed a terrible cry as Dawn's hands grabbed her and pulled the gushing nipple to her waiting mouth.
For one long moment there was no sound but the sucking of Dawn's lips, and then Sabine began to scream. She twisted and struggled desperately, feet scrabbling back against the curb, but Dawn's teeth were firmly lodged in her breast, and Dawn's hands held her wrists like iron, and she couldn't get away.
Spike was mesmerized by the scene; it had been a long time since he'd gone hunting with Dawn. He'd forgotten how strong and inventive she was. He was still staring, awestruck, when the larger man pushed past him and grabbed hold of Dawn. He jerked her from her victim, wrenching a wound in Sabine's breast, blood pouring down the bodice and turning the figured cloth to black. Dawn's lips and chin were shiny with blood, and she laughed as she stumbled off the curb, tongue flicking out to lick away the traces.
"What the fuck's wrong with you?" Fred bellowed, reaching again for Dawn's arm, his fisted arm swinging towards her. She wheeled around, blood-stained, grinning, her eyes glittering wildly in the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp. Not the crazy chick anymore, but a monster.
"Fuck!" To his credit, Fred didn't let go, but his swing gave way and his momentum faltered. Too bad for him, either way. Dawn struck him full across the face, and he went sprawling on the pavement, blood spraying from his nose. The scent was thick in the air, and Spike shivered with hunger. Dawn got there first, straddling him, pinning his arms, settled in a lover's crouch over his body. She drew one hand back, licked the man's blood off her fist, and remarked noncommittally, "She tasted better."
Spike realized with a start that he'd forgotten the other one, still there by the car. Still screaming, too, hoarse and incoherent sobs as she pulled her skirts up to try and staunch the blood pouring out of her wounded breast. She'd bring the neighborhood in a minute, with that noise. Spike jerked his head toward Sabine, and called out, "Shut her up, Bit. I'll get this one."
Fred, still struggling, tipped his head back, saw Spike's face shimmy and change. He grew still and small-looking, and shouted in a shrill, desperate voice, "Sabine! Run!" It penetrated the woman's fog of pain, she gave a start, and finally saw the faces peering at her in the dark. She ran.
"Shit! Spike, I can't run in these damn boots! Get her, quick!"
Didn't have to tell him twice. He lit out after her, following her footfalls, loud as gunshots, and the blood trail she left as she ran. Behind him, he heard Dawn's lilting voice, saying, "You know, I really like your coat."
Sabine didn't make it a block. Fear and shock and blood loss outstripped the adrenalin rush, confused her, made her weak. Running blindly from the car, she unknowingly headed away from sanctuary, away from the club, the mass of people, from life and light and witnesses she might have roused to fight. Instead, Spike tracked towards the dead center of the dead zone, empty buildings and empty streets. He found her crouched down behind a dumpster; could hear her shaking breaths from the street. Hunched down small, so small, arms wrapped tight around her knees, trying to be oh, so quiet.
Spike's body was vibrating with excitement, the blood smell, the chase, too long since he'd been back on the hunt. Right this moment, the soul took a backseat to his need. Stood smiling in the alley's mouth: no where for her to go. His boots crunched loud against the filthy pavement as he walked slowly up the alleyway. No one for blocks, except Dawn, no way out for the girl.
So intent she was on being unseen, she didn't even flinch when he rounded the dumpster. He stood over her till her terrified eyes focused on his face. She got even smaller, sobbing, hands clutching her filthy costume. "Please, no, no, please, just - I swear, you can, please, just don't hurt me. No, no, no."
He could smell the salt tang of her tears, all but invisible there in the darkness. Took a step forward, licked his lips. She flinched then, scuttling back against the wall. Her voice raised desperately, trembling, "Fred? Fred?"
"He's dead, love."
She shoved a hand against her mouth, muffling the incoherent chant, "Oh god, oh god, oh god…"
"Don't worry, love," he said smoothly. "You will be, too."
He reached down for her, mouth watering, demon singing inside him. How long had it been? Too long, far too long. His fingers closed around her arm, and Sabine managed to rasp out one whispered sentence, as though she was afraid to say it too loud. "Why? Why are you doing this?"
Dawn's hysterical tears, wild eyes taking in the bodies lying everywhere, and she's too frightened to call for Buffy, afraid Buffy's already here, still and cold, she whispers to him like she's telling him a secret. "Why, Spike? Why are you doing this?"
"She needs me," he whispered back. "She wants me this way. Don't worry, pet, we won't leave you." And then he killed her.
The memory slammed into him, broke through his hunger and his bloodlust and the part of him that was enjoying the pain, and wrenched a sob from his chest. Fuck. Found that he'd fallen to his knees beside the woman, and it wasn't only her face stained with tears. Gently, he reached out a hand, cupping her ruined breast like a lover, and closed his eyes. Stroked his thumb across her face, wiping away her tears. "I'm so sorry, Dawn," he murmured. "Sweetheart, you didn't - didn't deserve this."
Beside him, Sabine had gone perfectly still, eyes wide, body rigid. Spike gave a little shake, and focused on her again, and he leaned close to whisper mournfully to his victim. "I'm sorry. I have to take care of her, see?"
Then he was at her throat.
She cried out, her blood bursting hot into his mouth, his tongue hungrily catching the drops which rolled towards escape. She struggled uselessly against him, already weakened but alive enough to cry. Her blood was sweet and hot; and the pleasure of the kill was so much better with live, struggling prey growing quieter and quieter. He bit harder, and suckled furiously, till she was still, his hand still closed around her breast.
And then the bloodlust left, and he was cradling a corpse as if it were Dawn. He flinched back from the thought, forced himself to lay her down, rearranging her blood-soaked skirts, closing her eyes. His hand shook faintly as he touched the cooling flesh, but he didn't falter. Stood and wiped his mouth, licked the traces from his hand. He drew a long, shaky breath to steady himself, and reached for a smoke. Just like riding a bike, you didn't forget how to kill. But he didn't look at her face again, as he lifted the body into the convenient dumpster. Just an empty shell, that's all. He turned on his heel and headed back to Dawn.
She was leaning against the car, stolen cigarette dangling from her lips. The body was gone, only rusty-colored blotches here and there testified to what had gone before. "What took so long?" she asked. "You find her?"
"Yeah." Spike crushed his cigarette out beneath his boot, and looked around. "So where is it?"
"Where's what?" She smirked, taking a long drag off her cigarette. "Oh, him? I called him a cab and thanked him for a really good time." She rolled her eyes. "Where do you think?" She gestured over her shoulder. "In the trunk."
Oh. Of course. "You have any trouble getting him in there?"
"Nah. Didn't put up any real fight, either. I like it better when they fight back."
Spike snorted, remembering the coat and the tough-guy air. "Poser."
Dawn rose from the car to clasp his hand. "Can we go dancing now?" Her eyes sparkled above her pretty pink skin.
He smiled, drawing her to him for a lazy kiss. Let her taste the fear in his mouth, know that he'll be what she needs. Then he heard the muffled thump coming from the car. He frowned down at Dawn, making doe eyes at him, pretending she hadn't heard anything. "He's dead, isn't he?"
She shrugged carelessly. "I dunno. Maybe. Who cares? C'mon, Spike, let's go." Dawn made to head down the block, Spike grabbing her arm as she turned.
"Maybe? Well, maybe we'll get caught, then. How stupid are you, woman?" There were even more sounds coming from the trunk now, moans and scratching and bloody hell, it'd be noticed in a heartbeat the first time somebody walked by. "Keys," he demanded.
"They're inside the trunk. Sorry." She didn't look sorry at all.
Spike ground his teeth. "Go pop the trunk, then – these types always have internal controls. Do it."
Obediently, she walked to the driver's window, peering in. "It's locked," she said, innocently.
"Then break the fucking glass before I use your head to do it." She acted like Harmony to make him insane, he was sure of it. Knew she wasn't that damn stupid, but one day these stunts were going to get them in serious trouble.
Dawn giggled, and shattered the glass. "I love that sound," she said happily.
Fred – wasn't that his name? – lay curled inside the trunk, groping weakly against the carpeted interior. As the lid opened, and fresh air poured in, he raised his head, eyes glazed, but hopeful. The hope faded as he saw Spike.
Round his throat was a necklace of bite marks, each deep and painful, as if they'd been worried, like a dog with a bone. Impossible to hide those or make them look like stab wounds. What the hell was she thinking? Spike grabbed the man's chin and lifted, ignoring his sounds of pain and feeble warding gestures, so he could look more closely. "Bit," he began, warningly.
"I got bored. You took so long, and I didn't know if you'd want some, so I just kind of played for a while." One hand on her hip, she looked completely disinterested. It probably wasn't a pose.
"You can't leave them like this. I've told you. We'll have to move – you want that?"
"Oh, come on, Spike." Dawn strolled around to peer over his shoulder at her handiwork. "It's not like there's a Slayer in town or anything. They're just people, what's the big?"
"There will be a Slayer, if you keep advertising long enough. Just people - they're easy on their own, yeah, but a mob?" He shivered faintly at the memory of Dru, covered in wounds, bones jutting from her chest, her intestines spilling out onto the road, crying to him in that horrible, hopeless shriek, Spike, please, it hurts, it hurts – "It is a big deal. Just ask Drusilla."
He lifted Fred partially out of the trunk, trying to get leverage to snap his neck. Past time to put him out of his misery. As he pulled back, the faint glow of the streetlight glinted off something shiny at his mouth. Fuck. He nearly dropped the victim, whipped around at Dawn, growling. "You tried to turn him, you bitch."
Her eyes were wide now; she knew that voice. He wasn't teasing anymore. "N-no, Spike, I swear, I didn't. That's his blood. Look, look!" She darted forward and picked up the man's wrist, showing Spike where she'd bitten a long gash. Then she held up her own, unmarred. "See? Told you, I got bored. That's all, I swear. Don't be mad, Spike, ok?"
The rage dropped away from him, leaving a sickness in its wake. He set his jaw. Got to be what she wants. He didn't bother to say he was sorry before he broke Fred's neck.
The club was packed, wall to wall. The air was thick with smoke and heat, like a furnace opening onto the street. Spike and Dawn passed through easily enough, no one sparing them a second look. What they wore wasn't worth a passing glance in this place. The smell of the place was overwhelming, intoxicating. Sex, and perfume, and blood somewhere, and pounding music like an external heartbeat. His fingers tightened around Dawn's waist, as he steered them towards a corner.
"I'm going to head to the bathroom," she shouted. "Clean up a little." She waved her blood-stained fingertips for emphasis, and he nodded. Dawn squinted at his hands, and said, "You should, too."
She was right, of course. He slipped in the gents, quickly and furtively washed the blood from his hands. It swirled black down the sink under the fluorescent lights. Another tick against him. Another life on his conscience. He was glad he couldn't see himself in the mirror.
Came out with Dawn nowhere to be seen. How the girl could take so long when she couldn't use the bloody mirror was beyond him. He flagged down a waitress, got a beer, settled himself against the bar to scan the dance floor. Plenty of interesting folks, wearing interesting things, none of which interested him. He was so focused on searching for Dawn's red-and-black that he missed them the first few times. Just another queer couple, dressed in ridiculous Spandex costumes, swaying against each other to some relentlessly upbeat number. Probably so drunk they didn't realize it wasn't a slow song. His lip curled in a sneer, but...he found he couldn't stop looking. One man had laid his head alongside the other's cheek, smiled with a faraway look that suggested nothing else in the bar could hold his attention. Periodically, his partner would rub his face into the man's hair, just the smallest of lover's touchstones. Their hands were intertwined, palms fit easily together, and their other arms encircled one another's waist. They were perfectly relaxed, content with one another, lost in their own world. In a moment, the song ended, and they pulled reluctantly apart. Gazed at each other tenderly, and with such utter joy - Spike's chest tightened, and he felt the prick of tears. He'd had that, once upon a time, with Dru. Didn't realize he still - still craved it. Part of him wanted to run to them, force his way between them, wanted to be part of that belonging. Part of him wanted to slash them open and watch them die.
He drank his beer, and looked away. Tried not to wallow, he really did. That was one of the traits he'd always hated about that great weepy git, Angel. But full of stolen blood, the tang of the girl's fear still on his tongue, the sorrow dragged heavy on him. He stared resolutely downward, no intention of making moon eyes at a couple of –
"Spike? Earth to Spike, hello?"
Startled, he looked up to find Dawn right in front of him, hands on her hips.
"'Bout bloody time you got back." He settled back against the bar and gestured to the bartender for another round.
"I've been standing here for at least – hey!" She glared at the single bottle of beer. "Get me one, too!"
Spike took a long pull, flashed a smirk in her direction. "Get your own."
"You jerk, you know they won't serve me cause I look 15. And it's all your fault, anyway. You could have waited two years to turn me, but noooooo..."
"Waited two years, the world would have ended, and you'd still not be drinking."
"Smart ass." She leaned over to snatch the beer from the bar. He chuckled as she tipped it back and grimaced. She still drank like a teenager.
Smiling, he plucked the bottle from her fingers. "Let's dance."
She pulled him out into the mass of bodies, crammed so tight into the tiny space that it was as though they were all moving in a single motion, the undulation of waves across a sea. As she began to move, her tension, anger, all that balled-up spoiling-for-a-good-fight energy just flew - she relaxed into the endless motion of the crowd, hips and hands waving wildly to the beat. Smiling, she danced as close as she could, their bodies brushing together with every pulse of noise. Spike thought maybe, maybe this was what she really wanted. The realization hit him like a thunderbolt - hunting was just something she played at, something she did so she could get to do this every night.
He'd never liked crowds when he was human, - too many opportunities to be preyed upon - and his years as an outcast soured him on demon company. He marveled at how Dawn fit so perfectly into the scene, confident and happy. He couldn't remember seeing her look this way. He wondered what else he'd missed because he'd been too busy to --- Dawn's hand shot out to grasp his arm, pulled him closer to focus his attention back on her. When he looked, really looked, her eyes were bright and her mouth wet. She set her body in a long, rolling motion, her fingertips tracing a path from her neck to her groin. She dropped her gaze to watch her fingers slide lazily over the tight leather, tongue barely peeking out from between her lips. Then she deliberately raised her eyes to Spike's, and mouthed "Want me?" under the pounding music.
God, he did. Reached for her, pulled her hard against him, replaced her hands with his own, both of them still moving to the rhythm of those around them. Their bodies slid together, tantalizing friction where their groins pressed together, and Spike could feel her nipples harden through the thin leather, and she moaned in his ear, hands running over his arms and waist and chest, when the music moved them apart. He set his mouth against her ear, and she shivered when he finally spoke. "I want you, kitten. Now." He pulled away, just a bit, to see her staring at him as though he were the only thing that existed, the other dancers forgotten, and the rhythm lost. The look was so familiar, so haunting. It took him a long moment to realize that's how he used to look at Dru. She loved him.
He raised one of her hands to his mouth, laid a kiss square in her palm, and smiled his most dangerous smile before he pulled her from the floor. The lovers who Spike had envied didn't look up from their dancing when he and Dawn brushed by.
They hit the darkened corner like a whirlwind, hard kisses and desperate caresses, and hell, it was like they hadn't gone at each other not six hours ago, like they hadn't touched in years. Dawn pushed up his shirt to run her hands beneath it, fingernails scraping his nipples, and he was vibrating, hard, ready. Shoved a hand into her top - harder than it looked, that suit was tight as hell, and kissed her - or tried to kiss her. Her and those damn boots - she loved the things, but her three inches of extra height made sex against the wall a tricky proposition. He glanced around till he spied a table - occupied, naturally, but not for long - picked Dawn up, wrapped her legs around him tight, and carried her to it. He simply set her in the middle of the table, knocking drinks to the floor. Raised his head from hers to growl out, "Fuck off!" to the outraged patrons, game face flashing over his features. They didn't object a second time.
Thank god for the genius who invented the all-round zipper, Spike thought. All it took was two quick motions, his zipper, hers, and he was inside her. Didn't take long, the music, hard and driving, set the tempo of their thrusts against each other, wet, hard, and the teeth of the zippers scraping him as he pulled out, and his tongue parting her lips, swallowing her gasps and sighs; he forgot. Forgot it all, no sadness, no guilt, no thinking, thinking, thinking. Just the closeness of her cunt, and her skinny boot heels on his thighs, and her nipples under his fingers, and fuck, she was so beautiful, his sweet little bit. She closed her teeth over his lip, and he shouted as he came. Didn't stop moving, still thrusting, still grinding against her, till she shuddered out her own incoherent sound. They lay against one another for a long moment, bodies still shaking. Spike kissed her again, happy for the first time in months? Years? "I love you," he whispered.
She turned her head away from him, her face blank. "Liar," she said.
Spike felt his heart sink. She was slipping away from him, and soon she'd be gone. His grip on her tightened, for just a moment, and then he let her go, pulling away, closing the barriers between their skin. What else could he say that she'd believe? He ran his hand through his hair, frustration simmering inside him, then helped her off the table.
Dawn slid up under his arm, snuggling against his hair. "It's ok," she said calmly, "at least you still want to fuck me."
"Dawn," he began, his voice catching in his throat. "Don't. You're --" She was out from under his arm and moving away before he could finish. What else could he do but follow after?
He found her back at the bar, drinking his beer with that funny wrinkled nose that didn't seem so funny anymore.
"I was talking to Marie." Her eyes were still fixed on the dance floor and its endless motion.
"Marie. That's what took me so long to come back from the bathroom. Marie and Charlotte were here. They said - " She pursed her lips, took another swallow. "They asked me if I'd heard from Buffy. They heard she and the dork had grabbed this weird shaman-y type back in LA. Guy's got a lot of power; maybe something about an apocalypse? They figured I might know. Guess that's what she was calling about."
He'd forgotten. Made a screwed up sort of sense, he supposed. "Sounds like her, Bit. Been too long since their last brush with oblivion, I suppose. Your sister always was addicted to the drama."
Dawn snorted loudly. "That's for sure. It's always look at me, I'm so special. Bitch."
Spike trailed a finger over her lips, leaning close enough to whisper. "Let's dance some more, love."
Dawn jerked away from him angrily. "Screw it. Let's go home, Spike."
She held on tight to him as they rode, but her hands were still, not loving like before. Spike couldn't figure whether to be heartened - maybe she wasn't angry with him, but with her sister. They were so much alike sometimes, it was hard to see. Volatile, intense, passionate. He wasn't a fool; knew he loved them as much for the roller coaster ride as for their sweeter nature. He pressed his hand over Dawn's, briefly, as they drove through the night.
Angry or not, she didn't demur when he pressed her up against the front door frame, kissing her, caressing her wherever the leather didn't cover. Didn't stop touching her as they climbed the stairs, thighs and waist, arms and hands, stopping her at the landing to cup her breasts and lay kisses along the back of her neck. He'd ignored her too long; not again. Soul be damned, he thought with a twinge, he'd not chance losing her a second time.
They only just made it through the door before he pulled her to him, hands frantically unlacing, pausing to stroke her recently uncovered flesh. "Want you so badly, love, always want you," he murmured into her mouth. She shivered all over at his words, shoved the coat from his shoulders and ran her nails down his back. He moved his mouth from hers, whispering in her ear just how much he wanted, just what he wanted, all the things he'd do to her, with her, for her. When he slid her zipper open, she was wetter than a river. "You love me, pet?" he asked.
He felt her gasp and twitch, fluttering around his hand. "God, Spike, yeah, yes, you know I do. Please, oh, please."
Spike smiled, and pulled her to the floor. That's when the telephone rang.
They both flinched from the sound, tangled in one another, mouths still pressed together. Dawn pulled away with a sigh. "She'll just keep calling till I answer it. Bitch," she said, bitterly. Spike lay stiffly over her for another moment, and then raised up to let her clamber to her feet. He listened to the clack of her boots as she traveled to the bedroom, and then there was silence. Five minutes, ten. Worried, he followed.
Dawn was standing in the corner, the tension in her frame visible from the doorway. "Dawn? Everything all right, love?" When she didn’t answer, he crossed to her, nuzzled her neck, trailing his fingers down her arm.
She turned, then, face a mask of blankness, her hand cradling the cell. "It was Buffy. She'll be here tomorrow night. She wants to see you."
Continued in Chapter 3
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