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Discretion is Advised
Chapter 2
To Spike the night was still young, and since most of his sunnier days were spent inside that grey, confining crypt, he found his feet moving upon their own accord towards none other than sixteen-twenty Revello Drive. It would bore into him the next day if he didn't exhaust all of the current ones opportunities.
He looked up at the night sky, not especially beautiful for the stars were shielded by an accumulation of rainclouds whose payload began to gradually empty onto the pavement below. Circular marks were made of a darker shade.
"Can't a guy catcha' break." Spike moaned inwardly, lifting the back of his leather coat to protect the precious hair atop his head when things started to pick up.
Rainy nights were awful; rainy days on the other hand allowed him to walk freely about Sunnydale - as he pleased - for twice the amount of usual time.
Guilt rose like an ocean's tide within him: one moment on its way out, and the next falling back inwards stronger than ever. "Been spendin' too much time around Buffy," Spike reasoned aloud, "she's makin' me go soft."
Her house came into view a long minute later, rivulets of water sliding off of its roof and into brown-green drains below.
Even Spike had common sense enough to know that knocking on the door at such a late hour would be overstepping boundaries that hardly held in the first place, so he instead decided to seek refuge underneath a tall, sturdy tree whose leaves granted relief.
That evening's downpour eventually decreased, and at length Spike had climbed his shelter and reached a thick, protruding branch that ran closely to a side window. So near, he was, that the inside was clear to him.
Obviously a ladies bedroom. His hopes began to rise. Lots of stuffed animals. There began a welling in his chest. And then... Dawn herself, the blue-eyed goddess, stepped in wearing only a thin white towel. There was, Spike decided then and there, no word for that kind of unbelievable luck.
"Who am I to argue with fate?" He whispered playfully, the beginnings of a grin apparent.
Much to Spike's chagrin, Dawn had went to change just out of frame and left the towel wafting to the ground as a reminder of what he could be seeing if only his old friend fate had moved the branch just... a little... closer.
What seemed like an endless eternity of hours passed before the object of Spike's affection returned, but definitely not in the manner he was expecting (i.e. girly pajamas and poodle hair-clips galore.)
Instead, Dawn wore something shockingly different.
A skirt - so short it made Spike uncomfortable - hung to the top most part of her milky thighs; black and white lacing weaved intricate patterns in the space allowed between the waist and legs, which was promiscuously little.
Above that, which was less of an article of clothing and more of a horizontal sash, was an entirely exposed midriff, flat and taut.
Spike held a needless breath as his widened eyes trailed further upwards to a halved red tank top that sank low enough to reveal ample cleavage. Twin hills of pale pink sent shivers coursing through the voyeur's motionless body, but the moment was fleeting and he knew the route she'd use to escape.
Slinking silently to ground level, the vampire hid in wait and listened a while until he heard Dawn begin clambering awkwardly onto the branch. He could only imagine how adorably clumsy she looked at that moment, and it took every ounce of strength in his body not to take a quick peek.
"Eep!" The young girl partially yelped, partially whispered through her teeth. She had taken a small tumble and was in the middle of ineffectively kicking her legs at the air to get a nonexistent foot hold, hands holding on for dear life to what once was a perch.
"Oof!" Dawn had dropped. Standing back up, she picked at the grass caught in what meager scraps of clothing she wore, huffing something about how she was never going to get it clean again, and what he would think.
That, unsurprisingly, was the word that caught Spike's attention. Who was this he? A sharp twinge of jealously found its place in his side, and what once was a predatory smile turned simply predatory.
Before his thoughts became less clouded, Dawn had already reached the end of the street in something similar to a run, but which more resembled a newborn horse trying out its legs for the first time due to her choice of stilettos.
Spike ducked and moved between bushes in response to the younger Summers' constant vigilance, and found it more difficult to discretely follow her than he had previously considered. Of course with Buffy as a sister, it was no wonder she worried about getting caught, and in those clothes?
Trepidation began to creep up on Dawn's pursuer as she entered familiar territory: one of Sunnydale's twelve cemetaries - more specifically, Spike's cemetary. On his way through the gated threshold he had spotted two or more vamps on the plots perimeter, figuratively holding their breath for a tasty morsel like her to strut by.
Luckily enough, one was looking in another direction and the other had his nose in an old Green-Lantern comic book.
As if she were suddenly a different woman, Dawn's hips began to sway in such a mesmerizing flow that Marilyn Monroe would have been put to shame. Either a broken heel or death wish, Spike decided, but found himself more dumbstruck than articulate.
Dawn wasn't exactly one for thinking ahead, but it still surprised the stalking vampire to see her knock on the heavy metal door to his own crypt.
That smile from before came back as if it had never left.
I'd better take the back way in.
