CrossingShadowRiver 11, by dutchbuffy2305
Rating: R
Timeline: About ten years after season 5 of AtS; sequel of sorts to Crossing into UnchippedTerritory.
Author's note: Thanks to my dear betas, meko00, ayinhara, LadyAnne & mommanerd.
Author's website: http:home.planet.nl/dutchbuffy2305
Feedback: Yes, please, to
Dawn has only just taken off her robe when the door is thrown open with a bang and Spike strides into the room, making it small and bland by his presence. He hauls Dawn against his cold hard body without speaking and kisses her roughly. His tongue thrusts masterfully inside her and she opens up to the deep hot kiss without demur, melting in his arms. Spike growls low in his throat and one-handedly in a practiced movement rips open her flimsy nightie . He throws Dawn backwards on the bed and crawls over to her with slow sinuous movements, like a big powerful cat. A shiver starts up deep in her belly.
"Take off my pants, bitch," he commands her and she obeys with shaking hands, low heat churning inside her, speechless with lust and fear. She fumbles with the buttons of his fly as the stiff denim strains with the pressure of the big member hidden behind it. Finally, it springs out and slams against his muscled belly. It's so big and scary. Boyfriends have not prepared her for the existence of Spike's cock.
Spike pushes her head down. "Suck my dick," he says, and again she has no choice but to comply. The bare red head is thick and smooth, almost impossible to get her mouth around and she gags. Spike shoves a few fingers in her pussy and meets only slippery wetness. Dawn comes violently after three such thrusts and he shoves her off his hand.
"Open up," he says and Dawn opens her legs wide.
Spike grabs them and clamps them against his chest. He rams inside her and she squeals in pains and pleasure.
"You deserve it, you little slut," he growls.
Dawn moans and tosses her shiny head. Spike kneads her breasts and twists her nipples, all the time thrusting in hard and fast. Dawn comes again, moaning helplessly.
"Spike, I love you," she says.
"Aaaargh!" Spike shouts and slumps down on her after a last deep thrust.
He hides his head in her neck and bites hard. "Love you so much, Dawnie," he grunts between clenched bloody teeth and bites down again.
Dawn throws off the covers, sweaty, her heart pounding, and withdraws a shaky hand from between her legs. Wow. That was hot. But also kind of scary. She hadn't realized that she actually wanted to be bitten by Spike. The dialogue was lame, too. Maybe she should go for something a little gentler, like the dreams she used to have when she was younger.
The moonlight softly touches the Egyptian cotton bedding and caresses Dawn's shiny hair, lying in a prefect half circle behind her head. A soft knock sounds on the door and it opens seemingly by itself. Who could it possibly be? Not…A graceful form drifts into the room, his nose, cheekbones and hands high-lighted by the silvery moon, the rest of him in relative shadow. Spike stops and catches his breath, probably in awe at her radiance, displayed so invitingly before him.
"Dawn," he sighs.
He takes another hesitant step and Dawn can feast her eyes on his beauty. He's dressed in nothing but clean, well-pressed blue jeans, top button undone, and his bare chest and arms seem to glow in the eerie lambency.
He kneels down at the bedside and takes her slender hand into his big ones. "My darling Dawn, I love you so much. Will we finally be together?"
Dawn's heart thuds heavily with expectation. She can't speak, just nods and rubs her thumb on his wrist. Spike bends forward and places a soft, reverent kiss on her lips. The taste of him is sweeter than honey yet burns a languid path to all her limbs. She floats on clouds of love and when they slide together as if by magic, not in the least hindered by clothes, he completes her by filling her up to the core. They sigh in perfect unison and when they climax simultaneously, the earth moves.
Dawn turns over irritably and stomps her pillow back into shape. That's not it either. The first scenario was too rough, the second one way too schmoopy. When she has her period she still devours bodice rippers where sex is couched in terms like that, and they're very comforting when you're feeling low, but as a grown up woman of twenty eight she needs a little more oomph than that. Maybe she ought to go for realism.
Dawn is alerted by the sound of muffled sobbing. It's the middle of the night, or early morning maybe. At first, she doesn't want to know about his grief for her sister, as guilty as she feels about the ignored phone message. Buffy looked so desperate. She'd prefer him to be angry at Buffy, but she can't not hear the low desperate sounds. It's worse somehow when it's a grown man crying. She tosses and turns and finally decides to go see if he's all right. She changes her flimsy silk nightie for soft, much-washed old pajamas . She refuses to think about why she does that.
Her cheeks are hot and she checks out her reflection. Winter pale, no make-up, but her eyes sparkle and her skin is flushed. It'll do. She considers brushing her teeth but decides that would be too obvious. She walks into the guestroom on silent bare feet and stands mesmerized on the doorstep. A beam of light, from the moon or a street lamp, she can't tell, illuminates the naked back of the man in the bed. He's lying there curled in on himself, his hands clapped before his mouth and eyes, giving in to private sorrow. His back is pale, the muscles marked in startling relief by the wash of bluish light, like one of those martyrs in Renaissance paintings. The sheet covers his lower body and she can just see the swell of his buttocks.
The rush of arousal she feels is so heady she has to steady herself again the doorjamb. There is no reaction from Spike. Buffy always said he could smell her at a hundred yards, and gauge her mood by her breathing and her heartbeat. He must know she's here, or is his grief insulating him from that information? She puts her hand on her heart to calm herself down. The palm of her hand brushes against her nipple and a bolt of heat shoots to her groin.
The thought of touching Spike makes her dizzy. She imagines herself stretched out under him, undulating, irresistible. He will finally see her as a woman. He'll be helpless before her; he'll love her like he should. He's been the yardstick every boyfriend has been measured against, and none of them made the grade. Now is the time to go for the real thing.
Dawn is absolutely sure that if she goes to the bed and consoles him they will have sex together. Spike won't be able to resist her now. Is that what she wants? Right now, sure, but she wants more. She wants all of him, for him to leave Buffy and be all hers. If she breaks through his defenses this very night, will they be able to look each other in the eye tomorrow?
Spike makes a tiny surprised sound and turns over. His hands rest behind him on the bed, supporting his reclining torso. He looks up to Dawn with his face tear-streaked and his mouth soft and slack. He makes an even more gorgeous picture like that, all taut abs and straining arms, his cock just barely defined under the thin sheet. The Savior on the Cross, or St. Christopher maybe. They usually draw them real skinny.
Spike remains absolutely still and stares at Dawn. She has to decide now, walk away or go forward to the bed. There is no middle option. Still, perversely, she tries for one.
"You all right?" she asks.
The sound of her owns voice surprises and shocks her, low and full of yearning.
"No," Spike says and turns away again.
It's her choice; she goes to him.
She lays her body flush against his back and her face in his hair.
"Shh, Spike, shh, it'll be alright, things will be better in the morning, shh, I've got you…" she croons softly. For once, she's the mature, caring one, and he the lost child, and it makes her feel very powerful and womanly.
She strokes his arms slowly and rhythmically, trying to soothe him with the warmth of her body and the low wordless sounds she makes. At first, he's taut as a bow under her ministering hands, but slowly he relaxes against her, breathing out with deep shuddering sighs. When he's calm and loose under her tiring fingers, leaning heavily against her, she turns him over and pulls his head into her neck, still stroking his back in that hypnotizing rhythm, pretending that his every touch and breath don't make her tingle and ache inside. Through the thin sheet, she feels him growing against her, and her heart grows with it. Almost there, she's almost got him.
Spike lifts his head and opens his mouth to say something to her, she doesn't know what, but she'll never know because she swoops down and kisses him hard. His hands clamp on her arms and he moves against her once, jerkily, and then he kisses back just as hard. Triumph bursts open inside Dawn like an orgasm. She lifts up her knees and guides his cock inside her. It's hard as rock and she's never ever felt anything like it in her whole life, so hard, so big, she's proud she's more than ready for him; she receives him all the way in one thrust. Spike moans, his face twisted and torn. Dawn rises above him, pins his arms down and tries to ride him in what she imagines is a hard vampiric rhythm.
"Let it happen, Spike, just let it happen, let me do the work, it's alright, you deserve it, let me make you happy…"
Spike lift up his hands, as in defense. Dawn thrusts her breasts in the big palms while she writhes over him and he closes his eyes and lets his head fall to one side in ecstasy.
His face twists and his breathing grows labored, like hers, and it's hard to maintain the rhythm that long, her thighs ache and sweat drips down between her breasts but she has to be the one, she has to make him happy.
"Let it go, Spike," she pants, "it's all for you, all yours, take me, use me, I'm yours."
Spike orgasms with a desperate groan, which twists his beautiful face into a gargoyle countenance, shuddering and crunching down hard. Dawn flops down on him, exhausted, victorious.
She tries to kiss him again but he turns his head away and hides his eyes behind his hand. Dawn guides his hand to her pussy. She's not finished yet. There ought to be some reciprocation, right?
"Spike. Come on, it's your turn now."
Spike lifts his hand and stares at her in disbelief. "What? Dawn, I can't…let's not…"
He rolls her off him and gets out of bed, nearly falling when his legs entangle in the bedsheets. "I'm sorry. This is a mistake. Sorry. I've got to…sorry."
He grabs his clothes hastily, clumsily, and flees. The front door slams closed and she can hear his footsteps rattling down the stairs in the silent night. Shit.
Dawn lies in the sticky rumpled bed. Triumph turns cold as ice as the traces of come on her skin cool down. It wasn't cold, his seed, nor was his body. She starts to chew on the cuticle of her thumb. She can't believe this. This is not how it should have gone. This was supposed to be the beginning of the Spike and Dawn show. He should have made love to her as if he meant it. How can he do this to her?
She starts to cry unrestrainedly, harsh ugly sounds she resents making. She's glad he isn't here, she'd be ashamed if anyone heard her bawl like that. She can't even call anyone. She'll come off so badly if she tells this to anyone, seducing her sister's husband while he was looking to her for support and comfort. They're going to think she's some kind of psychotic scheming bimbo if she explains how sure she was that sleeping with her would make him fall in love with her.
How can she tell this story so that she'll get some sympathy? She cries harder. There is no way to tell it where she'd come off as acting righteously. She shouldn't have, in any circumstances. She can't ever tell anyone, because everyone would side with Buffy and Spike and say she was a nasty bitch to seduce a man out of his mind with grief. It'll have to be her secret.
She gets out of the bed and starts to strip off the sheets. Hide the evidence. Destroy the evidence. She turns on the washing machine and hesitates before she turns on the shower. The scent of his skin and seed is still all over her and she hates to wash it off. It'll be as if it never happened, because even if it turned out wrong, this was the stuff of her dreams and she can treasure it in a deep corner of her mind. She relives the few minutes of absolute bliss she felt and she manages to bring herself off on the memory. It's very sad, to stand there in her borrowed shower cubicle in the middle of the night with her fingers up her pussy. It's not fair. She's the better sister.
Now Spike will have even more incentive to go rescue Buffy. Who knows, if she'd have let well enough alone, if events could have run their natural course…For the second time tonight she has cause to dislike herself. Yeah, what is the natural cause of events? For Buffy not to be there. She's not that bad a sister; she doesn't actually wish her dead. Just gone. Dawn turns on the shower so her tears won't irritate her swollen face any further and vows to prove to herself that she's not the girl she seems this night. She'll do everything she can to rescue Buffy. No one will be able to point the finger at her and say she didn't love her sister. She does and she'll show them.
Dawn rolls out of her unpleasantly rumpled bed and walks to the bathroom. She douses her face with ice cold water, never a problem in London. Her face is blotched and red from crying. Is this a childish thing to do, living all these vivid scenarios of things she's never ever going to do? She's cried like this over imaginary accidents her imaginary children had, which is utterly silly in a way and she's never told anyone about them, only the real Tara once. It helps her make her mind up. She'd better get some sleep, she's supposed to show up for a work introduction tomorrow. She's going to put away these hopeless dreams of Spike and love.
When she passes Spike's door on her way back to the bedroom, fully intending to go back to sleep, she halt and knocks on his door. Her heart is a frightened hamster on a wheel, rattling around in her rib-cage. What the hell is she going to say?
There's a kind of grunt from the room and she walks in. Spike's awake. He's leaning with his forehead against the window pane, deep in conversation with the bare branches that tap the window pane. He's only half clad, but Dawn tries to look away from hiss exposed back.
"Spike?" she begins.
"Yeah, what is it?" Spike says. He sounds exhausted and hoarse.
Dawn doesn't really know what she wants to say. 'Spike, throw me on the bed and ravish me senseless' will most likely not have the desired effect. She goes over to him and her hand hovers over his arm.
"I…"
Spike sighs irritably. "Not now, Dawn."
He grabs her upper arm between his thumb and forefinger and marches her back to the door. "Get some sleep, will you?"
He turns away and goes back to his moody pose by the window. The rain must be fascinating him. There's no moonlight glow on marble abs, his cock is just this limp thing curled up between his legs, he doesn't look her in the eye. No churning heat, dammit.
"Be a good girl and shove off," Spike says without looking up again.
Dawn shoves. She strips of her useless sexy nightie and shrugs into her comfy old jammies. Talk about humiliating. Still, didn't Spike protest a little too much? She'll have to approach him more subtly.
TBC