Temptation

(The characters are not ours, they are Joss')


Dawn had cause to remember her overly-confident words many times over the next week. Spike was everything that was courteous, proper… and distant. He would greet her (and the other American students) at breakfast, then stroll off to have his coffee and whatever with the other teachers. He would lean over her to check her work (as he did with the other students in the Victorian Literature class), but be ever-so-careful not to let even his sleeve brush against her long, unbound hair. He would work her until she was panting, sweaty, painfully aroused, and ready to drop in Watcher fight training, then evade any attempts to stay late with the excuse that, as the only Watcher-in-Training with a regular school load and all the Watcher related activities, she needed to make the best use of any unscheduled time.

It was enough to make her scream with frustration. Dawn knew he wanted her. Knew it in the deepest part of her awakening femininity. Could tell by the way his eyes tracked her. Felt it in the searing laser-blue glances that she could almost intercept when she was looking down at her work, or moving from class to class, long tanned legs swaying beneath the short uniform skirt, or sweating as she bouted against another Watcher-in-Training during fight practice.

Steps had to be taken. Big, huge, aggressive steps! She made up her mind to take them with all of the focus she’d never known she possessed, until she came to England and saw Spike again, weak morning sunshine gilding his very human, very warm hands.

Dawn found a wonderful department store on her rambles through London with Jeanine, and purchased lotions, shampoos, and scents designed to entice. Warm vanilla, sultry musk, sweet hot cinnamon candy, little-girl bubblegum, anything and everything that might strike a chord with Spike. She wore them every day, randomly changing up the scents that permeated her skin and hair with a delicate temptation of flavors. They glimmered from her pores during fight training, mingling with her personal aromas of overheated, aroused girl in what she hoped would be a torturous yet subtle assault on Spike’s senses.

For his part, Spike had to exert every self control trick he'd ever learned. By day, his body mercilessly persecuted him with dark needs and desires that had no place in a place like this... a school. Sometimes he hated himself for wanting her so badly, for wanting to take her innocence. He didn't want to resist her... he wanted to forget how she felt under him, wanted never again to feel the temptation to take her. Therein lay the rub... the lady had other plans for him, and he wasn't blind.

The way she looked up at him, eyes wide, her pupils so large and soft... the way she bit down on her lips... doused them with that bloody bubble-gum scented gloss. He hadn't missed the glitter that drew his attention to her breasts... couldn't help but imagine her rubbing a lotion over her firm globes. Had he really touched her there? He ought to be ashamed. He was ashamed, but he was also hard, and heavy, and so needy it took everything he had to pretend detachment.

She found some of the older girls, ones who knew how to sew, and paid them to tailor her uniforms so that they were sexier without passing over the edge of the dress code for the school. Shorter skirts, blouses that followed her curves. Sometimes, before entering Victorian Literature, she would even unbutton another button, revealing a flash of creamy skin against lacy lingerie in all the subtle shades: coral and ivory and white, peach and pink and lavender and baby blue, delicate in color as the veins that ran along her wrists.

More and more, he found himself looking down at his book when he called on her in literature class... just so he wouldn't be caught staring at her legs, or her thighs... or her throat. God, how he'd liked the sounds she made when he kissed her there. She was usually prepared, but sometimes she would falter... and he knew it was because her mind was on something else... he could feel her gaze on his hands... on his chest, and sometimes on his zipper when he stood in front of the class and leaned against his desk. He helped her in those moments, led her to the answers he wanted, made sure she wasn't embarrassed. With anyone else, he might have been a bit less forgiving... but with her….

At fight practice, the more often Spike would hand her off to another student for sparring, the more she threw herself into the combat, cheating in ways that would not have been possible were she not the only girl present. During takedowns, her legs would twine the boys’ in ways that were strong and sexy both. She used her body in ways that would have been illegal in forty-nine out of the fifty states back home. Spike chastised her for it. Once she explained that she’d seen Xander fall prey to the femininity of too many seductive demons, Archer praised her, and encouraged her to continue, so that her fellow Watchers-in-Training could build up an immunity to seductive moves during a fight. She blushed delicately, and informed her official unofficial Watcher Trainer that she wasn’t sure how well it was working, but that she had learned such things by observing the Dark Slayer, Faith Lehane. The boys fell all over themselves assuring her that it was, in fact, ‘most effective, don’t you know’. Spike glared. But Spike also watched with a feral intensity.

At times like this, he burned both with anger and desire. Her movements were enough to drive him to move to the catwalk once or twice, to surreptitiously bring himself off as he watched her... wanting to be the one she was wrapping her body around, wanting to be the one she took down, held down with every part of her body. The anger... that was directed to the boys who were paired with her. At times, he wanted to get in there and break their hands... especially when he saw them stray and knew exactly what they were doing... copping feels under the guise of accidents.

Exactly what you want to do.

As soon as practice was over, he excused himself... the farther he was from temptation, the better.

Once again, Spike had managed to utterly disappear after practice. Dejected, Dawn showered at the warehouse and headed back to the main part of the school campus, backpack slung over her shoulder. She wasn’t paying much attention to where she was going, other than perhaps to dinner. Where Spike, once again, would not be.

Desultorily, she put some items on her tray, and went to sit at an empty table. To her surprise, she joined by Jeanine and some of the British tennis players, whom she had avoided eating with since that meal when gossip and vindictiveness had been the order of the day, mixed with silly assumptions about Americans.

“Hi, Dawn,” smirked Jeanine as she slid her tray next to the other girl’s. “Where you been?”

“Oh,” said one of the tennis players, a lanky blonde named Giselle, “she always disappears after classes, hadn’t you noticed?” The other girls snickered.

“Studying,” Dawn said, not willing to be baited. She just wanted to eat, and go upstairs, and rethink her strategy for getting Spike closer to her.

“You certainly are a dedicated… student,” said Giselle, sarcasm dripping from her words. “One wonders what exactly you’re learning. And who might be tutoring you.”

“Gis!” Jeanine giggled maliciously.

“No, no, Jeanine. Inquiring minds want to know,” returned Giselle smoothly. Dawn raised an eyebrow at her. “And we’re going to find out, too. Since a certain, very hot teacher also disappears around those times.” Smiling maliciously, Giselle rose and departed, trailed by her teammates and Jeanine. The American girl cast a look back over her shoulder at her fellow exchange student, mouthing “we’ll talk later,” before following the rest of the cats away.

Dawn stared after them. This could get very bad.

* * *

She’d had no idea just how bad. But the succeeding days taught her.

People tried to follow her to Watcher practice and training, and she was late on more than one occasion. Bitchy girls would make snide remarks as she went by in the halls. Over-sexed jocks with few brains and bad teeth kept trying to corner her, to ask her out, to whatever the hell they thought would get some attention. Good thing they didn’t have the balls –pun intended—to report her for kneeing them solidly in theirs when they pushed too far! Her homework was stolen, particularly for Victorian Literature. And she had no one to talk to about it. Who would listen, or care? She wasn’t about to go whining to Buffy, or –horrific thought!—to Giles!

She sure as hell wasn’t going to confess her misery to Spike. He would probably think it was just a ploy to get close to him, anyway. Dawn had more pride than that. Didn’t she?

* * *

Spike was walking down the hall when he saw a rather rude student bump into another student, sending books flying to the floor. It took him a few second's to register that the girl who'd lost her books was Dawn. Immediately striding over to her, he started to pick up the books and papers on the ground. Behind him, he heard other students snicker, and glanced at them. "Would you care to share the joke?"

Under that chilly stare, they sobered a bit, then started to walk away. One of them hissed, "teacher's pet." Behind Spike, Dawn closed her eyes. This was soo not the way she wanted him to be seeing her! Needing rescue from some petty assholes. NOT in the plan!

He frowned. "Don't mind them." He placed the last book into her waiting hands. "I'll see you in class then."

“Sure thing,” she said briefly, but with a genuine smile. It was the most he’d said to her in days, except at Watcher training and in the confines of Victorian Literature. “I look forward to it,” she added, her eyes brighter. Nothing said she couldn’t take revenge on the assholes, did it? Of course not. And she knew just the official unofficial Watcher trainer to charm into giving her some surveillance gear. Meantime, she had a class to attend.

* * *

Later that day, after her head had been stuffed full of Chemistry, Dawn headed for the Library, feeling a little easier in her mind. Mr. Archer had been very helpful when she’d lied to him about wanting to track spiritual energies in the old school. Not being a techno-dweeb, though, it was going to take her a while to manage. But Dawn was confident she could do it, given enough time. Giselle would regret tangling with her. But that was something for later. Now, it was all about the studying.

Cause Chemistry? Was soo kicking her ass. It would be more fun if they were brewing up spells and potions instead, for sure. And if she were at Hogwarts, she’d know how to battle to save the world. This… not so much. As it was, the math and the moles and the acid-base combinations and formulas were totally snore-worthy.

She hesitated upon seeing that the tennis team was already ensconced in the Library, but a Summers woman never backed down from anything. Especially not some jealous petty Cordette wannabees! Even if she could hear them snickering together, and occasionally even catch a spiteful phrase. Tears stinging at the back of her eyes, Dawn buckled down to studying. But it was hard.

Especially when she found the note, tucked into her lab write-up from Chemistry. “Quit trying to be his little whore. You don’t have what it takes to get a man like that. Everyone see how pathetic you are. And? We’re all laughing.”

As though cued by the words on the note, the girls in the Library erupted into cackles and snorts. Her first instinct was to crumple the note up. Her second was to let the tears come. But Dawn did neither one. If Buffy could take dying twice, surely she could take some mean-spirited harassment? As calmly as she could, jaw clenched, she kept turning the pages in her lab notes as though she’d never even seen the malicious thing. But they knew. She just knew that they knew. Thoughts of revenge kept the tears from spilling, but it was a near thing.

When they finally left for dinner, even though Giselle knocked her books and papers to the floor, she felt a little better. At least it was over for the day, if she skipped dinner. Slipping over to the library door, she shut it quietly, and went over to the window to stare blindly down at the interior quadrangle of the school. She rested her head against the cool glass, and just tried to breathe for a while.

Behind her, she heard the door quietly open. Someone was invading her fragile sanctuary. “Shouldn’t you be at dinner,” she said flatly, not knowing or caring who it was.

"I plan to... in town, the school isn't my whole life, is it?" Spike walked up behind her. It was only after he caught her expression in the reflection of the window that he started to worry. "And how about you... shouldn't you be at dinner getting some of England's finest? It's fish and chips tonight."

“I’m not hungry,” she said. Except for you, she added mentally, catching the reflection of his intense blue eyes in the window glass. “At least you get to escape this place every now and then… for some decent food,” she added, turning about and leaning against the window sill, one ankle over the other and her arms crossed over her chest. God, it never ceased to amaze her that even as a human, subject to age and decay and heart disease just like every other person on the planet, he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Was it any wonder that she wanted –needed—him so badly? Had already done any number of stupid things just to get his hands on her body, his mouth on hers? Her eyes flickered hungrily from his eyes, to that beautiful mouth, down along his wonderful body and back up again, locking onto his gaze.

Was it any wonder that the whole school, apparently, could tell, and was giving her a hard time about it?

Steeling herself, Dawn tossed her hair over her shoulder and headed for her books and papers, still strewn about the floor. Kneeling, she began to pile them back together. The hateful note had floated farther than the other papers, as though the malice imbued in the paper gave it a little extra oomph. Damn it! Her eyes were stinging again, just remembering the words. Maybe she’d burn the damned thing up, do a little mock-cleansing ritual to sear the memory away… or at least make it more bearable.

Dawn stood up again, books piled in her arms, and shoved them into her backpack any which way, then turned to retrieve the petty, malicious thing, several feet across the polished hardwood floor and old Oriental rug.

"I've got it," he said, quickly giving chase to the sheet of paper.

As he lifted it, he turned it up and started reading. It wasn't homework. The further down he read the hurtful taunting words, the more forbidding his features became. "Who - did - this?"

Dawn could feel the stinging behind her eyes intensifying, hurt mixing now with humilation that Spike should have seen the wretched thing. She wrenched her frozen feet from the floor and went to him, reaching for the paper and trying to tug it away. "No one. I don't know. It's nothing," she tried, words tumbling one over the other as she paled.

He pulled it away, then cupped her chin. "This is not acceptable. Who did this?" The anguish in her eyes was his undoing... his fault, all of it. He was old, she was young, he should know better, she didn't have the experience to know. It didn't matter if bringing the issue to the attention of the principle might end his stint at the school, all he knew was he had to put an end to this... for her.

Her blue eyes, shimmering with tears she refused to shed, met his with a pitiful sort of pride. "I don't know," she repeated as firmly as she could while on the edge of breaking down. It was the truth, after all. There were a number of candidates, and she didn't know which malicious bitch had actually penned the damning note. She set her jaw firmly to still the trembling of her mouth.

"It's my fault." He saw the trembling of her lips. "Don't... please don't..." A force greater than any he'd experienced had him pulling her into his embrace. Library and people be damned, she was going to cry, and he wasn't about to stand-about.


He closed his arms around her slender frame, holding her tight, like a precious possession. "Please don't... they're just silly children. Jealous."

She swallowed hard as Spike embraced her, and couldn't hold back the tears anymore. Burrowing her face into his chest, hands clutching at his shirt, Dawn whispered, "Sorry... sorry..." as she wept, not sobbing, but shuddering from the tension of the past difficult days, now all coming out at once.

"Not your fault pet, not yours," he stroked her long hair, burying his own face in it as he struggled against the anger burning within him... maybe it was better that he didn't know who wrote the venomous bit of prose, or the ex-vampire in him might rise. .

His heart constricted as her shoulders shook, he felt useless. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "The old Spike would have known what to say." At least so he believed.

Dawn shook her head against his chest, and raised a still tear-streaked face to look at him from mere inches away. Her lips parted and she said softly, "He'd have gotten mad, just like you did." A fresh tear rolled down her flushed cheek.

"But he'd know what to say... a better way to make you stop crying," he answered, lowering his mouth over hers in a slow, tender kiss. What he couldn't tell her in words, he told her with his kiss... that if he could take her pain, he would. That he'd do anything to bring a smile back to her face, to give her back that careless lilt in her step. That he might not know her as well as ‘her old Spike,’ but he'd be willing to sacrifice his life if necessary to keep her safe.

Dawn's mouth accepted his as the flower does the bee, gently, softly, welcoming and tender. She could taste the salt of her own tears on his lips as they brushed her own, then sweetly asked for more, and like the flower, she bloomed beneath the touch. There was so much more to this kiss than the frantic desperation they'd both displayed before, the raging lust, the heated, irresistible pull of their bodies. This kiss was comfort and caring and protection and sacrifice, all melded together in a whole that left her shaken to her bones. Even with her inexperience, Dawn could tell the difference; this was more than physical attraction. So much more. "I like your actions better than any words he would have used," she whispered, laying her hand against his cheek.

"He wouldn't have put you into this situation to begin with," he answered, irrationally angry and jealous of a past version of himself. That Spike who had a connection with her, who would know to keep her safe rather than make her cry, then dry her tears.

Dawn caught his face between both of her hands, biting her lip, and said, "Doesn't Donne say 'comparisons are invidious'?" She pressed her mouth to his again, softly, with little kisses at the corners of his lips followed by another deep, slow, tender kiss that made her feel like she could fly. "So stop making them, okay?" Sighing a little, she cuddled closer in the comfort of his arms. "I'm not." Inwardly, she thanked God that he couldn't compare her to Dru, or Buffy, or even Harmony. He didn't remember them.

He couldn't help it, he couldn't forget a whole life time and really set it aside. But he let her feel like he'd accepted what she said, the way he was accepting her kisses. Soft kisses, shallow... almost chaste, and yet it was exactly what they both needed.

wrong wrong wrong

He finally broke the kiss, and moved away. "Dawn, this is exactly what ... what started ..." he gestured toward the letter. "People are noticing, it can only get worse, not better. Maybe you should switch to Professor Amber's literature class, I'll remain as your trainer, but let's give them less to talk about," he whispered against her temple.

Shivers chased along her at the barely-there touch of his lips against her skin, and she shook her head. "They'd keep talking, Spike. And they'd know they got to me. To us. It would make things worse, too, just in a different way." She turned to face him directly, swaying against his strong chest, fingers playing with his silken tie. "If I'm going to be talked about anyway, I'd rather do something to be talked about," she said throatily, and, tugging on his tie, she laid her mouth against his once more, this time letting the passion burn hard and hot, teasing her tongue along the line of his lips, begging and commanding all at once.

Heat flooded his system. Just like that, she made him ache and burn for her, made him weak with desire. He kissed her once, then physically moved away, putting his hands out to stop her.

He gave a mental groan at the sight of his own hands almost touching her breasts, and dropped them immediately to his sides. "I realize I'm sounding like a broken record... a DVD stuck in a groove," he amended for the teen's benefit. "But this has to stop. It's not forever," he added. "I don't think I could bear the thought of that."

"Not... forever. What do you mean?" Dawn felt like crying again. She'd thought she'd been getting through to him, and he was pushing her away again! Her teeth worried at her lower lip, still swollen from their kisses.

"Time will pass, you'll graduate." He tucked her hair behind her ear, then ran his hand across her face, lingering over her swollen mouth. Dear God why did he have to remind himself she was a child... why didn't he just know?

"Two years... it's nowhere near forever." He tried to smile. "Until then... I'm Mr. Spike, and your my student... of literature and war arts. You'll be good, won't you."

Be good ... bloody hell, he even sounded perverted. That was too close to Be good or I'll spank you.

Dawn felt frustrated, full of longings that Spike seemed determined to thwart. Did he really want to wait two years? When they were here, now, together? Burning for each other, and with a connection that meant more than just sex?


Reluctantly, she nodded. "I'll... behave," she said in a low voice laden with double entendre.

He bit back a threat to spank her if she broke her promise, then gathered her things. They walked out of the library and across the quiet campus. Most everyone was at dinner.

When they reached her room, he popped inside and put her books down. "Before I go, would you like me to get you something from the kitchens? Do you need anything?"

"Thanks, but I don't think I could eat just now," she said. As he turned to go, one hand holding the door open, she looked at him and said, "Spike," waiting for him to look at her again.

"Yes?" he looked down, ready to get her anything she needed.

"I need to tell you something important." She paused, and added, "I don't think it's occurred to you, either." Her eyes darkened, grew soft and yearning, and she pinned her gaze to his own beautiful blue eyes.

"Yes?" He was a bit more wary now.

"In Great Britain," she began, steadily enough, but then her voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "In Great Britain, the age of consent is only sixteen."

She was going to give him a bloody coronary. "In Great Britain, like elsewhere in the world, it is frowned upon for a teacher to take advantage of his student," he bit out, trying to force her to see ... to accept that he'd laid down the law. "Two years Dawn, don't look at me like that."

Turning on his heels, he left. If the door slammed, it wasn't his intention.

* * *

Spike was as pissed as an Irishman on St. Paddy's day. Driving had been out of the question, so he'd taken a cab. Now he was weaving across the campus, glaring in the direction of the students’ quarters... one particular student’s quarters.

He was going to have a bloody headache tomorrow, and for what? All the scotch he'd consumed hadn't dulled the images of her face... of her hands... of her hands on him. He swore under his breath and tossed the cigarette butt into the gutter, before building that housed the teachers’ small apartments.

Clumsily, he unlocked the door and walked in. Without bothering to turn the lights on, he headed for his room, dropped his keys and wallet on the table, and started to take his shirt off.

He shrugged the bloody thing off, then started on his pants as he walked toward the bed.

Dawn sat silently, watching him. The beauty of his shoulders and arms, chest and abdomen was not lost in the dim light. To her, it was like he was the source of all light, especially with her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She'd gotten into his rooms easily; being the Key was good for things like that, and she'd been waiting for a little while, tucked up against the headboard of his bed, knees drawn to her chest and her chin resting on them. She felt a bit like a mouse belling a cat. Except that this mouse wanted to be devoured.

As he started to undo his pants, she could feel the blood rising to her cheeks, and a by-now familiar heat and twist down low in her belly. "Spike," she breathed out.

His face jerked around. "Bloody hell... what are you doing here, Dawn?" he followed her gaze and looked down at his undone pants, groaning lightly as he couldn't hide his reaction.

"Waiting," she answered quietly, turning back the covers on the bed and curling her legs to one side, revealing lacy panties and bra in some dark color that contrasted with her skin. "For you," she clarified teasingly, as though he might not have figured that part out.

"Oh God..." he stumbled back, eyes clinging to her curves, to the edges of her lacy bra, and her small breasts just begging to be released. "You promised." He swallowed. "You were going to be good... this isn't good, this bad... very very bad."

"No," she said, uncoiling her long legs and rising from the tumbled white sheets, like a young Aphrodite rising from the foam. "I didn't promise to be good." She crossed the carpet on steady feet, graceful and almost slinking. "I did promise to behave." Dawn ran her hand along Spike's collarbone, traced the hollow between the delicate, strong bones, and stroked along his beautiful bare chest. "I never said I'd behave well."

He could feel the heat emanating from her body, her scent surrounding him. And God, her hand... his head was swimming... was it the drink... was it her? When he closed his eyes, he was only that much more aware of her. He shuddered under her touch, ached for more, wanted it so bad he thought he was going to go mad. But she'd been in his bed... in his bed.... "Please..." his Adam’s apple convulsed as he swallowed.

"Please..." she echoed, her hand trailing lower, across the sculpted muscles of his belly. She leaned up, trapping her hand between their bodies, and nibbled lightly along the side of his throat, above the carotid. His pulse practically vibrated against her lips as she murmured, "Please... what?"

"Don't. Please leave me alone. Please get out of my head," he whispered in an anguished tone, when all he wanted was to pull her up against him, to touch her all over, brand her as his... his little contraband. Shouldn't he be disgusted with himself?

His hands shook, he deliberately forced them to his sides, tried not to react... not to give her any more reason to torture him. If she knew how close she was to winning, he'd never have a chance.

She trailed both hands across his chest for the pure pleasure of caressing his skin, around his shoulders, down his arms, and took his hands in hers. They were shaking. Shaking! For her, or for fear that somehow, something was unreal about this? A terrible joke, maybe? Slender fingers laced through his. Did he not think this was real? That she was here? Wanting him desperately, needing his touch?

She lifted his hands to her mouth, brushed her lips across his knuckles, first one quaking fist, and then the other. Curling her wrists so that his hands rested against her bosom, Dawn whispered, "This is real, Spike. I'm not in your head. I'm real. We're real."

In the end, it was her tender words that broke him... that broke the dam that had held him in check this far. "I know you are," he squeezed her breasts lightly and wished she weren't so real, that this was a dream. He'd fucked her in his dreams too often to count... this was different, it had to be.

Lowering his head, he kissed her, moving his hands around her waist, pulling her up hard against him. She felt good... she felt right... she made him feel like he was home, when he didn't know what home was anymore. He kissed her again, this time harder, more desperate, more adult... his tongue delving deep into the slick hot cavern of her mouth as he slowly walked her backwards toward the bed.

His hands had turned in her grasp, caressing her breasts, before Spike took her mouth, once, twice. Dawn slid her arms around him, fingers digging into his back in her innocent passion, greedy for the taste and feel of Spike in her mouth, against her body, skin to skin at last with his chest bare and gleaming. The flesh between her legs grew slippery and hot, and her nipples swelled as though they'd thrust right through the fragile lace of her bra. She pulled his tongue deeper into her mouth, sucking on it, wanting more, even as he pulled her up against him, moved them subtly toward the bed with the experience of lifetimes.

When he felt the back of her knees touch the edge of the bed, he moved his hands down her body, dipping them inside her panty, cupping her ass, molding closer as they kissed as if there were no yesterday, or tomorrow... only today, only now.

He was hard... so hard, it hurt. Seeking relief, he thrust against her, rubbing his thick hard length against her belly. "Touch me," he begged, remembering that one moment of heaven when her hand had been on him in the gym.

Dawn moaned into his mouth and pressed back against him, unaccountably aroused by the request, and slid one hand into the opening of his trousers, nudging the zipper lower with long fingers. Quietly, it purred downward, and her hand slid between his belly and his cock, beneath the fabric of his clothing, and closed around his length with a slow, steady hold. Just as before, she marveled at the silken texture over the living marble of his erection, her eyes fluttering shut at the feel of him within her palm, so hot and hard.

He groaned as her inexperienced hand brushed against him, touched him again, sent fire racing up his body. He repositioned her hand, almost coming when she understood and closed her fingers around his shaft. He'd been fantasizing about this for weeks, and what he'd imagined was nothing compared to the blistering heat that crashed over him in waves.

Dawn moved her hand along Spike's length, afraid to grip too hard or move too fast, knowing only that this wonderful leaping part of Spike in her hands could be as fragile as it was powerful. Wanting to see him, as well as touch him, she pushed his pants and boxers down his lean hips, until both hands could caress and fondle him. Timid at first, she grew bolder at his reactions, cradling his sac in one hand and rolling it across her palm as her other hand stroked and danced along his erection, rediscovering textures that she'd only gotten the barest notion of, before, in the Watchers' gym.

He put his hands on her shoulders, and pushed her down so she sat on the bed as he stood in front of her. It took everything he had to stay still under her exploration. Once or twice, he bit his lower lip so hard it was surprising it didn't bleed. His head rolled back as he gripped her shoulders tighter, if only to prevent himself from forcing her to give him more pressure.

Dawn's legs were wobbly anyway, at the wonder of Spike letting her do as she pleased, and the heady rush of arousal and power left her a bit dizzy, so it was good that he guided her to sit on the bed before him, putting her at eye level with the beautiful thing she cradled in her hands and touched all over with soft fingers. His head went back, his hands gripped her shoulders powerfully, and she knew a flush of feminine pride at the reactions. Tempted beyond bearing, she leaned forward just a bit, and wrapped her lips around the head of his penis, licking at the salty drops that rested at his tip, rubbing her tongue round the heavy smoothness and flicking it against the small opening there.

His eyes snapped open at the feel of her lips around him. The sight of her tongue laving him, the attention she instinctively gave to his sensitive tip, the slick wetness of her mouth... they made his cock pulse mercilessly. "Take me in your mouth." He only just managed to make it sound less than an order... but she was killing him... slowly killing him.

Dawn shuddered pleasurably at his words, the throbbing in her mouth finding its match and mate in the throbbing between her legs, and she slid her hands around his hips, pulling him closer to her and to the bed even as she slid her mouth farther around him, taking him deeper between her lips and tongue, pressing her face against his belly as she swallowed around his girth, growing accustomed to the sensation filling her mouth. Her fingers dug into the flesh of his hips as she imagined being filled elsewhere, and a whimper of eagerness vibrated up her throat and around him as she began to move her head, sliding her lips and mouth around him, forward and back, changing pressures and angles, trying to learn how best to please him.

Uncontrollable lust welled up in his body as she instinctively did everything he could want or imagine. He threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her head closer when he couldn't help himself, and thrusting into her mouth even as he worried about over-doing it. She was so new at this, he really ought to maintain some control.

The pressure built... his need became more urgent... he wanted skin to skin. "Stop... Dawn," he slowly pushed her head back, trying to smile. "If you keep that up, you'll be extremely angry at me." He bent down and stripped off his pants, then sat next to her, drawing her into his embrace.

He kissed her, touched her... he mapped her curves, branded her skin. "I want you," he said, his voice hoarse and tortured. "I shouldn't want this. You should tell me no. Please Dawn... tell me no."

(If you like Spawn, want more, please FB. If you have concrit... tell us!)