Dreams of a Young Woman
Oct. 26th, 2015 12:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katleeptTitle: Dreams of a Young Woman
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Spike/Dawn
Rating: R/M
Challenge/Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
1_million_words Numbers Challenge: 16
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 3,081
Date Written: October 26, 2015
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, not the author, and are used without permission.
She's always been a girl who knows what she wants, or at least, she thinks she has been. It's still hard -- okay, impossible, even if she only admits it to herself -- to tell her real memories apart from the memories the monks placed inside of her mind. She has to admit, looking at her reflection in her mirror and turning slowly around, that those old Priests did a pretty bang up job when they put her together.
She knows she's not supposed to be real. She's come to understand that she was created by man, although that's supposed to be impossible. She's some sort of real life, modern day Frankenstein, a monster created by monks instead of a mad scientist, but she doesn't feel that way. She feels, for the most part, like she thinks a normal girl would feel. She has the same wants, desires, urges that other girls her age have.
Only while they're squealing over the actors who Dawn barely glances at and the football players at school, for whom she has even less use, and wondering how they can get their attention and which one they want, Dawn knows what she wants. She knows what she wants. She knows who she wants, and she knows how to get him.
She glances at her clock and smiles, a giddy feeling rushing over her. She barely stops from exploding with laughter or her own squeals, but she reminds herself sternly that, in a few minutes, she's officially going to be sixteen years old. She's too old for squealing, too old for laughing herself silly over a guy, and besides, that won't get the one she wants any way. But she knows what will.
She dresses in front of her mirror, carefully choosing each article of her outfit although the clothes aren't really going to matter. He might not even see her in them. She does giggle at that thought. The sound echoes in her silent house, and she lets herself laugh, excitement bubbling over.
The others don't know. They wouldn't even suspect. She's turning sixteen tonight; yet, they still think she's a kid. She's going to show them. Buffy was saving the world when she was sixteen. She might not save the world single handedly, but she's still going to get what she wants. She's still going to be a woman by the time the sun rises again, and she's going to have the hottest guy in Sunnydale make her one. All of her dreams for them are going to come true tonight.
Dawn spins one last time in front of her mirror, applies a tube of blood red lipstick she stole earlier while she was skipping class, and grins satisfactorily at her reflection. Sunnydale's hottest bachelor isn't going to know what hits him tonight. She skips from her room, no longer caring that that's perhaps a childish mode of travel.
The house is still empty, and for a change, she doesn't care this afternoon. She doesn't want the others around, not now, not with what she's planning. Buffy would lock her in her room and tell Xander to nail her window shut. He'd try to reason with her while Willow and Giles would be afraid for her with what she's getting herself into tonight. But none of them understand. None of them see Spike the way she does. They all still look at him as a Big Bad, but he's been there for her when no one else has. The bond they share is beyond special, beyond what she's ever had with any one else, and that bond tonight is going to grow exactly the way it should, the way she wants it to.
Most girls don't get to choose their first with a lot of thought. They stumble into it with boyfriends who are usually as blind as they are or are just wanting to use them for what they can offer them from between their legs. But Dawn and Spike aren't like that. She's known for months now, close to a year really, that he's the one she wants not just to be her first but to be her always, and she knows Spike feels the same. He just won't push her.
He wants her to be ready, wants her to want him and to make the call when she is. That's why, as the shadows of the afternoon grow longer, Dawn's steadily slipping through the town toward his crypt, her heart beating ever faster and her breath growing rapid and shaky with sweet anticipation. She knows the places to steer clear of, and she's left with plenty of time to do just that. She does have to cross the graveyard to get to his place, but the sun's still up. Still, she keeps a steady grip on the stake inside her denim jacket as she crosses swiftly by one headstone after another.
This evening, she doesn't read the names. She doesn't let her big, brown eyes dart from shadow to shadow, from grave to grave. None of the monsters who could be out there right now matter. They can't touch her before she can reach him, and she knows he'd kill anything -- just as her sister would, of course -- if it even thought of killing her. She's the Slayer's little sister and soon to be the lover of William the Bloody. No other Vampire in his right mind would dare mess with her.
She enters Spike's crypt unscathed, with no silhouette looming over her or crunch of stones or gravel behind her to so much as spook her. She's still so excited that she's almost bouncing in place. She has to still herself and remind herself that she's sixteen now. She's too old for such childish reactions, and she certainly doesn't want her Spike to see a child when he wakes from his slumber.
She almost laughs as she remembers threatening to come in here while he's asleep and set him on fire. She almost did back when he hurt Buffy, but that was all a huge misunderstanding -- and besides, he has a soul now. She knows he's a good guy with a good heart and soul. He's always been so gentle for her, always been there for her when she's needed him. He's been her rock, her pillow, her guardian. He's been everything she's ever needed of him, and now it's finally time to take their relationship to the next level. As she slips out of her jacket, and the sun sinks lower beyond the horizon, she knows she's never been more ready for anything in her whole life.
She's almost shaking when he wakes. She feels like she's been staring at his sleeping, handsome face for hours, but in truth, it's only been minutes. It only takes minutes, she thinks, to change the world, to save it or destroy it, to make one sixteen year old girl's dreams come true. Her mouth trembles when he looks up at her, lips curled back to expose his fangs.
His Big Bad face vanishes the moment he sees her. His fangs withdraw into a toothy smile, and he is again the sweet, brave, kind, and handsome Spike she's come to know and love over the last few years of her life. Over the only real years of her life. She pushes that thought away. She's not going to think about what's real and what's not tonight. She's not going to let the monks and what they did to her, how they her, destroy the best night of her life. She's not going to let anything bother her on this, the most important night of her life so far.
"Bit," Spike drawls, still pushing away the last restraints of sleepiness, "what're you doing here?" She knows the moment he realizes that she's not wearing any clothes for his eyes widen, he hisses, and he jumps from his bed. She trembles inside but remains standing there, facing the man she loves with a simple smile. This isn't the reaction she'd expected, but he isn't going to hurt her. He'd never hurt her.
She cries out in dismay, however, when Spike swiftly covers her in his sheet. Black silk presses against her gentle, nubile flesh. She can feel the press of his arms on the other side of the sheet and wriggles to be free, wriggles to feel him against her. "Spike! What are you doing?!"
"What are you doing, Nibblet?" he demands with a snarl so angry, so unexpectedly vicious, that it snaps tears to Dawn's eyes.
"I . . . I was waiting for you." And she has been, not just tonight but for many, many nights now. She's waited for him to make her dream of them come true, and yet now that she's here, now that it's time, all he wants to do to her is wrap her in a stupid sheet!
"Waiting for me naked?!" he demands, still hissing.
"Yes!" He catches sight of the tears sparkling in her eyes even as she wails, "I want you, Spike!"
He has no need for air, and yet there's still a catch in his throat at the sight and realization. "Dawn," he whispers her name in a husky voice. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl, thinks the voice of the poet he so rarely hears this century. She is beautiful, and he does want her, but she is still just a girl.
He cups her cheek in his hand and can feel her shaking. She trembles not with fear but with anger and the stubborn determination to not let any of the tears he sees fall. "Dawn," he says again, trying to find the words he needs as emotions broil within him. He wakes hungry most nights, but the hunger making him ache this evening has nothing to do with blood and everything to do with passion . . . passion and love, love he doesn't deserve, love he can not have.
"Your sister would kill me," he finally manages weakly.
"She doesn't have to know."
"She's find out."
"What? Are you going to tell her?"
"No! Of course not! But trust me. That bloody Slayer always finds out every damn thing you don't want her to know."
"I wouldn't let her hurt you," Dawn vows, and he suddenly how brave she has become. She's older than the last time he was this close to her, the last time he was so tempted to take her and make a woman of her, but she's still not old enough. He won't let what she wants to happen happen tonight. He'll do anything to keep this beautiful, wonderful girl from making mistakes with which he knows she'll have to live the rest of her mortal life, and loving him is definitely a mistake.
He caresses her cheek. "Nibblet," he whispers, the words he needs still failing him.
"Nibble me," she spouts, and he has to chuckle.
But then he shakes his blonde head. "Not like this," he whispers.
She won't beg him. "Spike, I know what I want. I know who I want. I want you."
"You're not ready."
"Why does everybody always say that?" She'd flail at him, but he still has her arms pinned against her sides and her body trapped within his sheet.
"Because we don't want anything to hurt you," he answers truthfully. "I don't want anything to hurt you. Especially me." He trails the backs of his fingers gently over her soft flesh, stroking her from her temple all the way down the side of her face to her jaw.
"You won't," she vows.
"I will," he says. He always destroys everything good in his life. He won't let that happen to her.
"Spike -- "
"I know I will."
They sound like the movies, she thinks, the sweet, romantic flicks she used to watch with Buffy and Willow where the guy wants to protect the girl, even from himself. He believes himself bad and destructive, but the girl sees the good in him and loves him, just as she does Spike. "You won't," she vows again.
"Nibblet, I -- " He hangs his head but keeps a firm grip on her through the sheet. "I -- I can't do this to you."
"Even if it's what I want?"
"You think you want me, but one day, you're going to realize you can do better."
"There is no one better than you, Spike."
A harsh bark of laughter escapes him at those words, but then he smiles as he looks up at her. Her breath catches in her throat this time as she witnesses the unshed tears shining in his dark eyes. "You say that now, but you'll change your mind."
"And if I don't?"
"I can't risk it, Dawnie. I can't risk hurting you."
"You won't, Spike. How many times do I have to tell you that before you'll believe me?"
"It doesn't matter. I'll always know I'll hurt you." I'll always know how fucked up I am, he thinks, and I won't drag you into my bloody mess.
"You won't, and I will always want you."
"You'll change your mind."
"No, I won't."
"Then come back," he says suddenly, desperate to buy some time. He's lost arguments with Dawn over things far less important. "Come back when -- "
"When I'm older," she finishes for him with a shy. She can't be angry with him, though, not when she sees how close he is to crying over her. She can't be angry with him. She loves him, and he loves her, too. She can see it in his tears, in his eyes, feel it in the way he holds her through the sheet, gently yet firmly to make sure she doesn't break free and get herself hurt (or so he thinks), and the way his hand on her face makes red hot tingles sweep all through every fiber of her being.
He nods.
"When? Tomorrow?" she hopes but knows already he'll say "no".
"When you're old en -- "
"Don't," she snaps, eyes flashing in warning. "Don't say when I'm old enough! I'm old enough tonight!"
That's an argument he knows he can not win, so he opts instead for gaining two more years. "When you're eighteen." By that time, she'll have known other men. By that time, she will have come to see the monster he is. By that time, she'll no longer want the Prince she imagines him to be.
"Fine. When I'm eighteen. It's a date."
He grins, but it's a thin-lipped smile she knows hides pain. You won't want me then, he thinks while she silently vows, Oh, yes, I will.
"But I'm not leaving here empty handed."
He caresses her face slowly, softly, his fingers running from the top of her head all the way down to just above her breasts that would be bare if not for his black sheet. She closes her eyes, relishing the sensations sweeping through her body from his mere touch, and in that moment, with her head tilted back and her blood red lips just barely open, she looks like a woman. She no longer looks like her sister. She no longer looks like the kid he's fought so many times to protect. She looks like a woman, like the woman who's been haunting his dreams lately.
And before he can stop himself, Spike leans forward. His mouth brushes over hers, softly, gently, not quite touching, a breath of shaking air left between their mouths. Then he cups her head again, thumb pressing into her jawbone, cool, slender fingers arching over her neck. He presses his lips to hers, and suddenly,Dawn's dreams are coming true. Once, twice, three times he kisses her gently, swiping his mouth over hers.
She steps closer, her nubile body pressing hard against his black leather. He can feel her moistness through his sheet and jeans. Need for her, and her alone, roars through his essence. He fights to keep control as her hot, young mouth presses eagerly up against his. His tongue sweeps into her mouth. His fangs nibble her lips. He kisses her hot and hard, savagely passionate, until his left fang pierces her tender lip too deeply. Her blood sings into his mouth, and he runs.
He runs out of his own crypt. He runs away from a woman who he'd just thought of as a child earlier today. He runs from hurting her.
"Spike," he can hear her whisper his name miles away as her eyes flutter open. Her tongue licks her own blood, and she savors the taste of it as well as his lingering taste. She'll never wash her face again. She knew he was gone before she opened eyes, but still she stands, alone and naked in his crypt, just savoring what's happened between them for a long while.
She doesn't want to move for that means their moment will officially be over, but they'll have others, she knows, and finally moves. She lets her sheet drop to the floor and redresses slowly, her whole body -- her whole being still quivering from the fire he set in her. He thinks he'll hurt her, but she knows better. He thinks she's not old enough, but she is. He thinks she'll want other guys, but she never will.
So she has to wait until she's eighteen to come to him again. Fine. She will, and when she's eighteen, there'll be no running. He will be hers, and she'll make him realize that he has nothing to fear. He won't hurt her. She won't leave him. Their love will be one for the history books. People thought it was ironic when a Slayer fell for a Vampire. They'll never know what real love is until they see her, the Slayer's little sister, together with Spike. They'll turn all of Sunnydale on its ear.
"Happy birthday, me," she whispers, now dressed and beginning to slowly force herself from Spike's crypt. She glances at his bed, where she knows her dreams will one night finish coming true. Then she spies the sheet where she let it fall to the floor. She snatches it up, holds it against her chest and face, and inhales. She grins as his aroma engulfs her senses.
"Happy birthday, me," she says again, meaning it. So she has to wait two more years. She will. And when she turns eighteen, she'll make all their dreams come true.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Spike/Dawn
Rating: R/M
Challenge/Prompt:
1_million_words Numbers Challenge: 16Warning(s): None
Word Count: 3,081
Date Written: October 26, 2015
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, not the author, and are used without permission.
She's always been a girl who knows what she wants, or at least, she thinks she has been. It's still hard -- okay, impossible, even if she only admits it to herself -- to tell her real memories apart from the memories the monks placed inside of her mind. She has to admit, looking at her reflection in her mirror and turning slowly around, that those old Priests did a pretty bang up job when they put her together.
She knows she's not supposed to be real. She's come to understand that she was created by man, although that's supposed to be impossible. She's some sort of real life, modern day Frankenstein, a monster created by monks instead of a mad scientist, but she doesn't feel that way. She feels, for the most part, like she thinks a normal girl would feel. She has the same wants, desires, urges that other girls her age have.
Only while they're squealing over the actors who Dawn barely glances at and the football players at school, for whom she has even less use, and wondering how they can get their attention and which one they want, Dawn knows what she wants. She knows what she wants. She knows who she wants, and she knows how to get him.
She glances at her clock and smiles, a giddy feeling rushing over her. She barely stops from exploding with laughter or her own squeals, but she reminds herself sternly that, in a few minutes, she's officially going to be sixteen years old. She's too old for squealing, too old for laughing herself silly over a guy, and besides, that won't get the one she wants any way. But she knows what will.
She dresses in front of her mirror, carefully choosing each article of her outfit although the clothes aren't really going to matter. He might not even see her in them. She does giggle at that thought. The sound echoes in her silent house, and she lets herself laugh, excitement bubbling over.
The others don't know. They wouldn't even suspect. She's turning sixteen tonight; yet, they still think she's a kid. She's going to show them. Buffy was saving the world when she was sixteen. She might not save the world single handedly, but she's still going to get what she wants. She's still going to be a woman by the time the sun rises again, and she's going to have the hottest guy in Sunnydale make her one. All of her dreams for them are going to come true tonight.
Dawn spins one last time in front of her mirror, applies a tube of blood red lipstick she stole earlier while she was skipping class, and grins satisfactorily at her reflection. Sunnydale's hottest bachelor isn't going to know what hits him tonight. She skips from her room, no longer caring that that's perhaps a childish mode of travel.
The house is still empty, and for a change, she doesn't care this afternoon. She doesn't want the others around, not now, not with what she's planning. Buffy would lock her in her room and tell Xander to nail her window shut. He'd try to reason with her while Willow and Giles would be afraid for her with what she's getting herself into tonight. But none of them understand. None of them see Spike the way she does. They all still look at him as a Big Bad, but he's been there for her when no one else has. The bond they share is beyond special, beyond what she's ever had with any one else, and that bond tonight is going to grow exactly the way it should, the way she wants it to.
Most girls don't get to choose their first with a lot of thought. They stumble into it with boyfriends who are usually as blind as they are or are just wanting to use them for what they can offer them from between their legs. But Dawn and Spike aren't like that. She's known for months now, close to a year really, that he's the one she wants not just to be her first but to be her always, and she knows Spike feels the same. He just won't push her.
He wants her to be ready, wants her to want him and to make the call when she is. That's why, as the shadows of the afternoon grow longer, Dawn's steadily slipping through the town toward his crypt, her heart beating ever faster and her breath growing rapid and shaky with sweet anticipation. She knows the places to steer clear of, and she's left with plenty of time to do just that. She does have to cross the graveyard to get to his place, but the sun's still up. Still, she keeps a steady grip on the stake inside her denim jacket as she crosses swiftly by one headstone after another.
This evening, she doesn't read the names. She doesn't let her big, brown eyes dart from shadow to shadow, from grave to grave. None of the monsters who could be out there right now matter. They can't touch her before she can reach him, and she knows he'd kill anything -- just as her sister would, of course -- if it even thought of killing her. She's the Slayer's little sister and soon to be the lover of William the Bloody. No other Vampire in his right mind would dare mess with her.
She enters Spike's crypt unscathed, with no silhouette looming over her or crunch of stones or gravel behind her to so much as spook her. She's still so excited that she's almost bouncing in place. She has to still herself and remind herself that she's sixteen now. She's too old for such childish reactions, and she certainly doesn't want her Spike to see a child when he wakes from his slumber.
She almost laughs as she remembers threatening to come in here while he's asleep and set him on fire. She almost did back when he hurt Buffy, but that was all a huge misunderstanding -- and besides, he has a soul now. She knows he's a good guy with a good heart and soul. He's always been so gentle for her, always been there for her when she's needed him. He's been her rock, her pillow, her guardian. He's been everything she's ever needed of him, and now it's finally time to take their relationship to the next level. As she slips out of her jacket, and the sun sinks lower beyond the horizon, she knows she's never been more ready for anything in her whole life.
She's almost shaking when he wakes. She feels like she's been staring at his sleeping, handsome face for hours, but in truth, it's only been minutes. It only takes minutes, she thinks, to change the world, to save it or destroy it, to make one sixteen year old girl's dreams come true. Her mouth trembles when he looks up at her, lips curled back to expose his fangs.
His Big Bad face vanishes the moment he sees her. His fangs withdraw into a toothy smile, and he is again the sweet, brave, kind, and handsome Spike she's come to know and love over the last few years of her life. Over the only real years of her life. She pushes that thought away. She's not going to think about what's real and what's not tonight. She's not going to let the monks and what they did to her, how they her, destroy the best night of her life. She's not going to let anything bother her on this, the most important night of her life so far.
"Bit," Spike drawls, still pushing away the last restraints of sleepiness, "what're you doing here?" She knows the moment he realizes that she's not wearing any clothes for his eyes widen, he hisses, and he jumps from his bed. She trembles inside but remains standing there, facing the man she loves with a simple smile. This isn't the reaction she'd expected, but he isn't going to hurt her. He'd never hurt her.
She cries out in dismay, however, when Spike swiftly covers her in his sheet. Black silk presses against her gentle, nubile flesh. She can feel the press of his arms on the other side of the sheet and wriggles to be free, wriggles to feel him against her. "Spike! What are you doing?!"
"What are you doing, Nibblet?" he demands with a snarl so angry, so unexpectedly vicious, that it snaps tears to Dawn's eyes.
"I . . . I was waiting for you." And she has been, not just tonight but for many, many nights now. She's waited for him to make her dream of them come true, and yet now that she's here, now that it's time, all he wants to do to her is wrap her in a stupid sheet!
"Waiting for me naked?!" he demands, still hissing.
"Yes!" He catches sight of the tears sparkling in her eyes even as she wails, "I want you, Spike!"
He has no need for air, and yet there's still a catch in his throat at the sight and realization. "Dawn," he whispers her name in a husky voice. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl, thinks the voice of the poet he so rarely hears this century. She is beautiful, and he does want her, but she is still just a girl.
He cups her cheek in his hand and can feel her shaking. She trembles not with fear but with anger and the stubborn determination to not let any of the tears he sees fall. "Dawn," he says again, trying to find the words he needs as emotions broil within him. He wakes hungry most nights, but the hunger making him ache this evening has nothing to do with blood and everything to do with passion . . . passion and love, love he doesn't deserve, love he can not have.
"Your sister would kill me," he finally manages weakly.
"She doesn't have to know."
"She's find out."
"What? Are you going to tell her?"
"No! Of course not! But trust me. That bloody Slayer always finds out every damn thing you don't want her to know."
"I wouldn't let her hurt you," Dawn vows, and he suddenly how brave she has become. She's older than the last time he was this close to her, the last time he was so tempted to take her and make a woman of her, but she's still not old enough. He won't let what she wants to happen happen tonight. He'll do anything to keep this beautiful, wonderful girl from making mistakes with which he knows she'll have to live the rest of her mortal life, and loving him is definitely a mistake.
He caresses her cheek. "Nibblet," he whispers, the words he needs still failing him.
"Nibble me," she spouts, and he has to chuckle.
But then he shakes his blonde head. "Not like this," he whispers.
She won't beg him. "Spike, I know what I want. I know who I want. I want you."
"You're not ready."
"Why does everybody always say that?" She'd flail at him, but he still has her arms pinned against her sides and her body trapped within his sheet.
"Because we don't want anything to hurt you," he answers truthfully. "I don't want anything to hurt you. Especially me." He trails the backs of his fingers gently over her soft flesh, stroking her from her temple all the way down the side of her face to her jaw.
"You won't," she vows.
"I will," he says. He always destroys everything good in his life. He won't let that happen to her.
"Spike -- "
"I know I will."
They sound like the movies, she thinks, the sweet, romantic flicks she used to watch with Buffy and Willow where the guy wants to protect the girl, even from himself. He believes himself bad and destructive, but the girl sees the good in him and loves him, just as she does Spike. "You won't," she vows again.
"Nibblet, I -- " He hangs his head but keeps a firm grip on her through the sheet. "I -- I can't do this to you."
"Even if it's what I want?"
"You think you want me, but one day, you're going to realize you can do better."
"There is no one better than you, Spike."
A harsh bark of laughter escapes him at those words, but then he smiles as he looks up at her. Her breath catches in her throat this time as she witnesses the unshed tears shining in his dark eyes. "You say that now, but you'll change your mind."
"And if I don't?"
"I can't risk it, Dawnie. I can't risk hurting you."
"You won't, Spike. How many times do I have to tell you that before you'll believe me?"
"It doesn't matter. I'll always know I'll hurt you." I'll always know how fucked up I am, he thinks, and I won't drag you into my bloody mess.
"You won't, and I will always want you."
"You'll change your mind."
"No, I won't."
"Then come back," he says suddenly, desperate to buy some time. He's lost arguments with Dawn over things far less important. "Come back when -- "
"When I'm older," she finishes for him with a shy. She can't be angry with him, though, not when she sees how close he is to crying over her. She can't be angry with him. She loves him, and he loves her, too. She can see it in his tears, in his eyes, feel it in the way he holds her through the sheet, gently yet firmly to make sure she doesn't break free and get herself hurt (or so he thinks), and the way his hand on her face makes red hot tingles sweep all through every fiber of her being.
He nods.
"When? Tomorrow?" she hopes but knows already he'll say "no".
"When you're old en -- "
"Don't," she snaps, eyes flashing in warning. "Don't say when I'm old enough! I'm old enough tonight!"
That's an argument he knows he can not win, so he opts instead for gaining two more years. "When you're eighteen." By that time, she'll have known other men. By that time, she will have come to see the monster he is. By that time, she'll no longer want the Prince she imagines him to be.
"Fine. When I'm eighteen. It's a date."
He grins, but it's a thin-lipped smile she knows hides pain. You won't want me then, he thinks while she silently vows, Oh, yes, I will.
"But I'm not leaving here empty handed."
He caresses her face slowly, softly, his fingers running from the top of her head all the way down to just above her breasts that would be bare if not for his black sheet. She closes her eyes, relishing the sensations sweeping through her body from his mere touch, and in that moment, with her head tilted back and her blood red lips just barely open, she looks like a woman. She no longer looks like her sister. She no longer looks like the kid he's fought so many times to protect. She looks like a woman, like the woman who's been haunting his dreams lately.
And before he can stop himself, Spike leans forward. His mouth brushes over hers, softly, gently, not quite touching, a breath of shaking air left between their mouths. Then he cups her head again, thumb pressing into her jawbone, cool, slender fingers arching over her neck. He presses his lips to hers, and suddenly,Dawn's dreams are coming true. Once, twice, three times he kisses her gently, swiping his mouth over hers.
She steps closer, her nubile body pressing hard against his black leather. He can feel her moistness through his sheet and jeans. Need for her, and her alone, roars through his essence. He fights to keep control as her hot, young mouth presses eagerly up against his. His tongue sweeps into her mouth. His fangs nibble her lips. He kisses her hot and hard, savagely passionate, until his left fang pierces her tender lip too deeply. Her blood sings into his mouth, and he runs.
He runs out of his own crypt. He runs away from a woman who he'd just thought of as a child earlier today. He runs from hurting her.
"Spike," he can hear her whisper his name miles away as her eyes flutter open. Her tongue licks her own blood, and she savors the taste of it as well as his lingering taste. She'll never wash her face again. She knew he was gone before she opened eyes, but still she stands, alone and naked in his crypt, just savoring what's happened between them for a long while.
She doesn't want to move for that means their moment will officially be over, but they'll have others, she knows, and finally moves. She lets her sheet drop to the floor and redresses slowly, her whole body -- her whole being still quivering from the fire he set in her. He thinks he'll hurt her, but she knows better. He thinks she's not old enough, but she is. He thinks she'll want other guys, but she never will.
So she has to wait until she's eighteen to come to him again. Fine. She will, and when she's eighteen, there'll be no running. He will be hers, and she'll make him realize that he has nothing to fear. He won't hurt her. She won't leave him. Their love will be one for the history books. People thought it was ironic when a Slayer fell for a Vampire. They'll never know what real love is until they see her, the Slayer's little sister, together with Spike. They'll turn all of Sunnydale on its ear.
"Happy birthday, me," she whispers, now dressed and beginning to slowly force herself from Spike's crypt. She glances at his bed, where she knows her dreams will one night finish coming true. Then she spies the sheet where she let it fall to the floor. She snatches it up, holds it against her chest and face, and inhales. She grins as his aroma engulfs her senses.
"Happy birthday, me," she says again, meaning it. So she has to wait two more years. She will. And when she turns eighteen, she'll make all their dreams come true.
The End
