Author's Note: I felt that BVS' best pairing was between Dawn and Spike, as strange as it sounds.
I own nothing, literally nothing. I'm writing this from the local Chic-fil-A's back alley on a wooden laptop. All credit goes to Joss Whedon and his affiliates.
Discretion is Advised
Chapter 1
It was embarrassing, wrong, and painful, what Spike was feeling, but as he knelt on his knees and watched over a tombstone at Buffy, his gaze shifted left of her to the person who had tagged along. Painful? Blissfully painful.
Dawn was out on a rare excursion to the graveyard, most likely for training.
That hair, the color of an autumn morning, flowing gracefully about her bust. Below that, her neck, slender and white as newly fallen snow. Well, mabye not newly fallen, but close to newly fallen, Spike corrected.
And that nubile young body had such subtle curvature, it would have struck him breathless if he needed to breathe. Dawn was... sixteen, or seventeen, he reasoned, not too young for him? And what did he care anyway! He was evil.
Spike knew his sudden lusting after the other Summers sister was artificial, his vampire senses told him so. A love spell was the culprit, no doubt. But still, it didn't stop him from gawking, and as he stared dreamily onward, fists on his chin and head tilted slightly to the left, a sudden rustling snapped him harshly back to reality.
It was coming from beneath him, a sort of hollow rippling.
"Oh hell." He groaned before scuttling to crouch behind a different grave.
Continuing to look with detached interest, Spike watched as a hand, then another, shot forth from the soil. Following these was the rest of a light-weight vampire who smelled of embalming fluid and sulphur.
"There!" Yelled Buffy, pointing. The recently undead gentleman gave a perplexed expression, as if to say, "Who? Me?" A pointed glare responded in the affirmative.
"Remember Dawn, like I said, the power belongs to him." The slayer continued as her sister approached warily, fright evident on her face. Her stake close by, Dawn circled the target, occasionally doubling back in some odd attempt at obscuring her path.
"Ah-ah!" The battle-cry uttered was enough to send Spike, still undercover, into fits of barely restrained laughter, cut short when the vampire turned to place the new sound. This opening was enough to allow Dawn to dust him without much trouble, bones and ash blowing away in a warm Californian breeze. She gave a crackly laugh that made Spike delighted to know he had some part in causing it.
"Nice work." Buffy smiled, obviously proud; a pat on the back was shared. "You too, Spike." She added shortly afterwards, less pleased.
The jig was up. "Y'got me, slaya'." He resigned, standing up to full height before a quick brush off. Bits of cut grass fell to the ground around his black shoes.
"How long have you been watching from there?" She questioned, unamused and showing it.
"Long enough t'know that the little bit here has some kick."
"I should know, I taught her." Buffy retorted, wondering why the conversation was taking so long to get to any kind of point.
"Most of it comes naturally though, ain't that right?" Spike bared his teeth in a devilish smirk to which Dawn averted eye-contact, flustered.
"Is there something you want? Or can we have permission to leave." The petite blonde hissed with unusually pointed malice, though Dawn and Spikes hesitant glances at each other were enough to give any mother-figure cause for aggression.
"Nothin' brewin' tonight." He finally said, breaking the tension. "Hope you and the niblet get home all good 'n safe."
Just as suddenly as he had arrived, Spike vanished into the night and back to his crypt where all that waited for him was a miserably vacant, but elegant, bed and the static screen of his overused television. Passions was on and he found himself, strangely enough, the least bit caring.
On the long but pleasant walk back to their home, Buffy and Dawn played with some easy conversation that bounced around subjects neither one of them was comfortable talking about, and after a few short minutes they ceased to speak at all. Their silence was made bearable by the evening's balmy air.
"Buffy? Why are you so mean to him?" Dawn questioned, focusing on the rhythm of her feet as they both rounded into Revello Drive.
"Him?" She replied, knowing the answer but still choosing to ask.
"Spike, it's not like he's ever hurt us. In fact one time-"
"Dawn, he's dangerous and completely devoid of morals. Do I have to say more?"
"But he has a chip now."
"Just because he can't bite people, doesn't mean he wouldn't." Buffy said with that sage-like 'wisdom' so many others seemed to respect, but Dawn herself loathed. "And besides, why do you care?"
"He still has feelings."
"The murder-y, pillage-y, rape-y kind?"
"Buffy," Dawn began, exasperated, "you can be really close-minded sometimes."
"I fight the forces of darkness Dawnie, my mind is never closed." She smiled as the conversation grew a great deal less serious. Arriving at the house brought welcome relief as they parted in the upstairs hallway, illuminated with the moon's blue glow.
"I need a shower." Dawn pouted.
