Summary: Buffy’s gone. Dawn’s not as innocent as Spike thinks she is.
, who reminded me how much I like Spawn. This ficlet is utterly self-indulgent.
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No profit is gained from my writerly endeavors and no copyright infringement is intended.
Tempted by the fruit of another
Tempted but the truth is discovered
What’s been going on
Now that you have gone
There’s no other
-- “Tempted” by Squeeze
“Ooh, right there. It’s all knotty. And quit hogging the controller. There has to be something on other than The Price is Right.”
This was what his life had been reduced to – midday babysitting while the witches were at work. Not that he minded mother-hening the Nibblet, but even she was trying his patience this AM.
Getting her up in the morning was always a challenge, especially when she didn’t sleep much the previous night. Throw on the start of her monthlies and a helping dose of teenage obstinacy and you had this walking monstrosity.
Orange juice in one hand and controller in the other, Dawn sat between his thighs flipping aimlessly through the dials as he dug his thumbs into the muscles at the small of her back. Apparently, in addition to nanny and cook, he was now the girl’s personal masseur.
“Can you believe this? How many paternity tests can a girl go through?” Spike glanced up at the screen just in time to see a wailing young woman go flying backstage as Maury trotted behind her, likely thinking of the dollar signs this daft bint’s promiscuity would bring him. Looks like him and Connie would be getting that Caribbean getaway after all.
“As many as the producers will pay her for,” Spike said, pressing hard into her back.
Dawn squealed and squirmed away from the achy pain, a pout on her face when she turned to look at him over her shoulder.
“Torturer,” she muttered under her breath.
“Yeah, yeah,” he countered with an eye-roll of his own. “Either shut it or push off ‘cause this vamp can’t take much more of your nattering.”
“It still hurts,” she conceded, shifting a little in the cushions to ease the pressure.
“Then I don’t want to hear mum from you. Now turn around and shut your trap.”
“Yeah, like you totally don’t love it.”
Spike smirked. The Bit really didn’t know when to quit while she was ahead. The teasing and taunting had gone on for most of the morning. Time for him to shut her down. He knew just the thing.
Tugging the elastic of Dawn’s sweatpants, Spike tucked his finger into the very top of her panties. “I see London, I see France,” he sing-songed, tongue curling impishly behind his teeth. Dawn’s heart gave a start at the gesture.
“Hey!” she shrieked, batting his hand away. Spike shook his head, chuckling, and wagged a finger at her.
“La Perla, hm? Those are some mighty expensive knickers for a girl on a weekly allowance. A bloke’s gotta wonder whose dosh you’ve been nicking to afford these frilly things.”
Dawn’s eyes widened in alarm. “You wouldn’t…”
“Strange to be wearing it on a flow day beside. Got a hot date I don’t know about?”
Dawn went still in his lap, her eyes fixed on his. A light blush dusted her cheeks, a few errant strands of unbrushed hair fluttering across her face.
“You really don’t know?” she said, her voice soft and vulnerable. He tilted his head, taking in her curious turn in demeanor. It was just the two of them today. He knew full well she didn’t have any plans to meet up with her mates. His brow furrowed as he caught the first wisps of a change in her scent.
Turning her around in the circle of his lap, he smoothed her hair down onto her shoulders. “Bit…”
“Do I smell good? To you, I mean,” she blurted. Her eyes drifted to her lap, only to shy back up slowly.
“Bit, I’m not sure what - ”
She brought her palm up to silence him, her eyes steady and shimmering. The pink of her lips deepened as she searched his face.
“Have you ever wanted…” she paused, a question hanging in the air between them. Wetting her lips, she leaned forward so that they were mere inches from his ear. “…to taste me?”
Craning his head back to look at her, Spike frowned, his mind searching for a gentle let down. He wasn’t sure where she was getting this from, but it had to stop. He was about to open his mouth when he glanced down between them. Dawn pulled her hand out from inside her underwear, the elastic band falling back with a snap. The tips of her index and middle fingers gleamed with blood.
Meeting his gaze, she crooked her fingers and whispered, “Do you want to now?”
Spike’s hands clamped tight around her waist, unsure whether to push her away or drag her closer. Pressing her cheek against his, she blew a light stream of air against the shell of his ear. When her fingers skimmed his lips, painting a thin coat of blood across them, he groaned low in his throat, his tongue snaking out to sample it. Spike shivered when the flavor hit his taste buds. It was bad enough that he had a nose like a basset hound. He could smell all of them, their blood pumping just below the surface, the scent of their monthlies teasing his nose through clothes and disposed sanitary napkins. But Dawn’s… hers sang to him, unique and distinct from the others.
As he nosed the air around him, Dawn watched Spike curl his lips back into a grimace, huffing in the scent of her blood like a great big cat. Pleased, she kissed his cheek and pressed her fingers into his mouth as she straddled one of his thighs. He whimpered and closed his eyes. While he sucked hungrily on her fingers, she dipped her hand back into her sweatpants for more. She sighed against him.
When she lifted her head, Spike growled around her fingers, nipping the pads and forcing his tongue between the webs. His expression was dazed, eyes unfocused as he honed in on the remnants of her offer. It had been so long since he had anything fresh, warm, alive.
“Spike…” Dawn hummed, catching his eyes when she waved her blood-coated fingers in front of his face. His head eagerly snapped to attention.
Leaning back on her haunches, she smirked and trailed the tips of her fingers across the hollow of her throat and down to the start of her cleavage. A red streaky line trailed vertically down her chest, stark and bold against her pale skin.
Spike watched all this silently as he idly teased the waistband of her panties, caught in a suspended state of hunger and arousal. Dropping one hand to her hip, she squeezed his closed fist, an impish smile lighting her face.
“I wore them for you,” she confessed, at last, and gathered her hands at the back of his neck to push his head down against her throat.