All About Spike

Good Company
By WesleysGirl

Rating: NC-17
Content/Warnings: Dawn/Spike
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions. I am merely borrowing them, with no hopes of personal gain. I'm just an unemployed housewife with no money, and I don't expect to profit from writing this or any other fan fiction.
Spoilers: Through "Seeing Red," goes slightly AU after that.
Distribution: Only with my explicit permission, but if you ask, I will almost certainly give it.
Notes: Thanks to Diva Stardust for the inspiration, and to Blue Larkspur and Ludditerobot for the title.


It's the first thing she says when Spike opens the door, and he has no idea what to say to her. He's aware that his mouth is hanging open as well.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Dawn asks, and when he still doesn't respond she sweeps by him and into the flat. She drops her knapsack at her feet, crosses her arms in front of her, and glares at him accusingly. "You never came back."

Spike runs a hand through his hair, trying to comb it into some semblance of order. "Look, Dawn..." he starts, but she cuts him off with a flash of her palm.

"I don't want to hear any excuses," she says. "I came because someone needed to tell you, and I told Willow that it wasn't cool to do it over the phone. I thought..." Dawn looks uncertain for the first time, but it's a quick slide across her face, there and then gone so fast that he's not even sure he saw it. "I thought someone should tell you in person."

"Tell me what?"

"Buffy's dead."

The words, long anticipated, are still a shock, and Spike takes a step backward. Not far enough that he can actually lean against the wall, but enough so that he knows it's there, waiting to catch him. Just in case.

Dawn must be able to see it, because she moves closer to him, reaching out like she might touch him. He flinches back away from her, and she stops, frozen in place like a wax doll. She's always been like a doll, Spike thinks -- fragile, slender, hair shining and... well. Bloody perfect, is what she is.

He still doesn't know what to say. They're both still, waiting for something to happen.

"I didn't want you to get a letter," Dawn says finally, in a small voice. "Or, you know, a phone call."

"How'd you find me?" Spike asks. He's been here in London for a couple of years, but the flat's rented under his pseudonym.

"Giles," Dawn says. She glances from him toward the kitchen, then back again. "Do you have anything to drink?"

Spike nods, and then stands up straighter. "Sorry. Guess I'm out of practice playing the host. Come on, Bit." He starts down the hallway, assuming she'll follow. He's poured a couple of fingers of whisky into a glass and set it on the table before he can even think, but Dawn just blinks at it. "Christ, I'm sorry," he apologizes again, moving it across to the other side of the table. "Wasn't thinking."

She smiles a little bit and sits down, perching herself on the edge of the chair like she's not sure how long she's going to be sitting there. "That's okay," she says. "But yeah, water would be good."

He hopes the tap water's okay to drink -- he sure as hell doesn't have any of the bottled stuff. He doesn't put it directly into her hand, but puts the glass on the table and then slides it over toward her with one finger.

Dawn takes a long drink, and then looks at him for much longer. It makes Spike uncomfortable.

"How'd it happen?" he asks, and then takes it back. "No, never mind. Not sure I want to know."

She nods. "Can I stay here? Just for a couple of nights?"

Spike shifts his weight. "I don't know," he says. "Might not be a good idea. I'm... not used to company."

"Yeah, you said that already." Dawn runs a fingertip idly around the edge of her glass. "Just tonight, then? I don't have anywhere else to go."

Spike thinks, suddenly and unhappily, about what Buffy would have wanted. "'Course you can stay," he says. "As long as you don't expect me to be good company."

"You were always good company," Dawn says. She glances at him, then reaches across the table for the glass of whisky and takes a defiant swig. She chokes a bit on it.

"Can see you're a practiced drinker," Spike says, with a little smirk that he can't quite suppress.

"Shut up," Dawn says. "I'm still underage in California."

"Still underage here too," he says, mildly enough.

"No," Dawn tells him. "I can't *buy* alcohol here, but I can drink it in a private home. I looked it up before I came."

His smile is impressed now. He'd forgotten how smart she is. Truth be told, he'd done his best to forget about her altogether. "Are you hungry? Haven't got much in the way of food, but I could take you out somewhere."

Dawn's eyes light up. "Really?" She still has that little-girl quality about her, pure and bright like the first star of the evening. "Because airplane food? *So* not my favorite thing to put in my mouth." She blushes brilliantly, seeming to realize the double-entendre in what she's just said.

"There's a place around the corner that makes a good curry," Spike says, moving over to the counter to fetch his wallet. "You like Indian?"


On the walk over, Spike watches her out of the corner of his eye, trying not to stare. Dawn's taller -- not much, she'd already reached close to her full height at 16 -- and her face, if anything, is a bit thinner. Hair's shorter too, but still sleek and shiny. She's wearing a tiny amount of make-up, professionally applied with a light hand: eyeliner, pale lipstick that's nearly the same color as her lips. A delicate fragrance like flowers hangs around her, and he can't help but feeling like a bee. Drawn to her.

For someone who claims to be hungry, she doesn't eat much. A few good mouthfuls, and then she just uses her fork to push the food around on her plate. She makes little designs with it.

"When?" Spike asks, not wanting to hear the answer but also knowing that he needs to. Knowing that she needs to tell it.

Dawn looks up at him then. "Three weeks ago," she says. "I knew Giles could find you, but I wanted... I needed..." She shakes her head, and he can see the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Spike reaches across the table and puts his hand over hers. "It's okay."

"It's not," Dawn says, and starts to cry in earnest, covering her face with both hands, her slim shoulders shaking. She's nearly silent as she weeps.

He moves his chair around next to hers and puts an arm around her. "Shh," he says, patting her tentatively. "Shh. Dawn. Don't cry."

"Can we go?" she asks through her tears.

Spike throws some money onto the table and gently pulls her to her feet. "Yeah. Come on."

They walk back to his flat with her arm around his waist, and his around her shoulders. Spike thinks that anyone looking would think they were lovers, the way they're wound 'round each other.

Inside, he can see that her face is flushed from crying, and goes to the bathroom for a damp flannel. "Here, love," he says, kneeling in front of where she's sitting on one end of the couch and tenderly wiping the tear tracks from her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Dawn says. "I didn't... I didn't think I'd cry anymore."

"Jet-lag," says Spike, thinking that maybe she needs an excuse for it. "You should get some sleep. C'mon then, you take my bed and I'll sleep here."

"No." Dawn's protest is quiet and throaty. It makes her sound more grown up than she is -- and then Spike realizes that she *is* grown up. That it happened while he was gone. "I'm smaller, I'll sleep here. You shouldn't have to give up your bed for me."

"I don't mind," Spike says. He doesn't tell her that half the time he doesn't sleep anyway -- that he keeps himself wired on nicotine and caffeine, that he often works eighteen or twenty hours a day for weeks on end, only to crash into a near-coma state for two days, sleeping almost constantly.

She changes into a long t-shirt and he gets her settled into his bed, grateful that the cleaning girl came yesterday and put on clean sheets.

"There now. You sleep, we can talk more in the morning." Spike pauses near the doorway. "She loved you, Dawn."

"I know." Her voice comes back to him from the bed, ethereal. "She loved you too."

Spike closes the bedroom door without answering, grateful for the bottle of whisky in the kitchen. He's going to need it tonight.

* * * * *

Spike drinks until he's numb and then lies flat on his back on the couch, looking at the ceiling and trying not to think. Trying not to feel. He'd left Sunnydale with the intention of getting his soul back, but in the end he'd been too cowardly -- hadn't been able to maintain the impetus needed to go far enough. Once he'd gotten far enough away from Buffy, it had been as if his head had cleared.

It had been easier not to go back.

He's been lying there for hours -- it's nearly 3 am -- when there's a faint whimper from his bedroom. The tiniest scuffling noise on the other side of the closed door.

When the screaming starts, Dawn shrieking Buffy's name at the top of her lungs, Spike flies into the bedroom before he can even think. The door bangs up against the wall with a hollow thump and Dawn is a squirming bundle in his arms, tangled in the sheets.

As soon as he touches her, the screaming stops. Her harsh panting sounds loud in the quiet room, and her hands clutch at his chest. He'd forgotten, until he feels them warm against his skin, that he'd taken off his shirt.

"Spike?" she asks.

"Yeah, Dawn, it's me. Just a dream. You're all right." He strokes his hand over her hair gently.

"No I'm not," she says miserably. "I keep seeing her... I just want it to stop."

"Shh." Spike shifts his weight on the bed, cradles her more comfortably now that she's limp instead of struggling. "I know."

After a while he starts to think she's fallen asleep again, but when he starts to lower her back onto the pillows her hands clutch at him again. "Don't go," she says.

So that's how Spike finds himself in bed with Buffy's sister. He's shirtless and Dawn's long legs are bare, and she's warm. Her arm is draped over him, and he can feel her soft breath over the bare skin of his chest. "You should try to get some sleep," he says eventually, when the touch of her fingers along his back starts making him hard.

"I don't want to," Dawn says. Her fingers move again in a sweeping dance.

"Dawn, look," Spike says. "This isn't a good idea." He has to shift his lower body away from hers slightly or she's going to feel it.

Her little hand, so fine and delicate, brushes along his side and then down across his ribcage. "You're skinnier," she says. "You don't have, like, vampire anorexia, do you?"

"Don't think there's any such thing," he tells her, and then reaches out and takes her hand, holding it in his own. Stopping her from doing whatever it is she's trying to do.

Dawn pulls her hand out of his and traces a line down his chest, a ghostly caress. Her fingertip moves lower, circles his navel maddeningly. "Do you still think about her?"

"Yes," Spike says. It's the truth.

"Did you still think about me?"

"Yes." He reaches down and stops her hand again.

"You think I'm just a kid." Dawn sounds sad.

"No," Spike tells her. "You're a young lady now. And you're just as beautiful as I knew you were going to be. Knew it from the first time I laid eyes on you."

She leans forward the tiniest bit, and presses her lips to his chest. "I missed you."

Spike doesn't know what to do. "Dawn, listen, I think we should just -- "

But before he can get any further, Dawn moves up and kisses him proper-like, and everything else falls away.

The next thing Spike knows, they're kissing, and he's flat on his back with Dawn straddling him, and he realizes she's not wearing any panties when the front of his dark khakis start to get damp. He thinks that he should stop her, but stopping her's the last thing he wants to do.

"Dawn," he groans against her lips. "Dawn, sweetheart, we can't do this."

She's panting, and she rocks her hips, pressing herself down over his desperately hard cock. "Why not?"

"Because..." Spike isn't sure what the right answer is. Because Buffy's dead? Because they're both grieving? Because it's not right, she's too young and sweet and deserves so much better?

"I want you," Dawn says simply. "I want to have sex with you."

He groans again, her words making him even harder. God knows he wants to bury himself in her. "Nibblet, I -- "

"*Don't call me that,*" she says, her voice harsh. "That's the girl you left. I'm not that girl anymore."

But she is. And that girl's grown up, and she's humping him and her breathing's getting faster. "You're sure?" Spike asks. "You're sure this is what you want?"

In reply Dawn kisses him again, her tongue warm in his mouth. Spike can't help but slip his fingers between her legs, and fuck she's so wet, so slick and hot with desire. She shudders at his touch, then impatiently shoves his hand away and shifts her weight, fumbling with the front of his jeans, unfastening them.

He shouldn't, but Spike lifts his arse up off the bed, helping her push his slacks down, baring his cock. When she settles her weight back down onto him again, her sweet warm cunt resting over his cock, he bucks his hips, pushing against her, and she cries out.

"Please," Dawn gasps. "Spike..." She reaches down, wraps her little fingers around his erection, and guides herself onto him.

* * * * *

When she pushes down, and Spike's cock moves into her, slowly, Dawn thinks she's going to tear apart. She can feel her breathing, painful in her chest, and her hands are on his shoulders, gripping.

"Christ," Spike says. "God, sweetheart... are you all right?"

She nods, leans down a little bit to kiss him again. His mouth his hard, and his body's hard, and his cock is the hardest thing ever. "I haven't... well, just once. But you're..." He's bigger -- much bigger -- and she has to change the position of her legs slightly. That only changes the hurt and she gasps, her grip tightening further.

"Shh, love. It's okay. Just relax."

Dawn's thigh muscles are trembling with the effort. Maybe this was a mistake -- maybe he's *too* big. But then Spike slides his hand back down between them and runs his fingertip over her clit, gently, back and forth.

After a minute Dawn can feel herself relaxing, and then suddenly she's flushed with a new warmth. She moans and rocks her hips just a little bit.

"That's it," Spike says encouragingly. "That's my girl."

He pushes up into her a little bit further, and it's like being entered by something huge and inhuman -- which okay, he *is.* It feels like she can't possibly stretch any more.

Dawn shudders, caught in the pain, but then Spike's finger slides over her clit again, and she remembers the good part of this. "Spike..."

"That's right, sweetheart." His voice is encouraging, and his other hand slides up under her t-shirt and cups her breast. Gives a squeeze, and oh, that feels good too.

"God," she mutters.

Spike pulls out an inch or two and then thrusts back in, and Dawn whimpers. He still feels too big, but it hurts a little less, and his finger plays with her, circling, touching. It makes her want to move, so she does, rocking her hips and pushing her clit harder against his hand.

"Oh God, Dawn..." Spike sounds totally blissed out, and that makes her smile. "Christ, what you do to me..."

Dawn feels stupid. When she did this before -- had sex -- it was all quiet, with no talking, and pretty much all she had to do was lie there and let the guy do everything. She'd feel stupider admitting that she's already forgotten his name. She'd only done it with him because she was curious, and because she thought that some day she'd want to do it with someone she cared about, and she wouldn't want to have no clue.

"I don't know what to do," she says, sitting up a little bit and sliding one hand down to rest on Spike's chest, bracing herself. "Show me."

"Don't want to hurt you," Spike says.

Dawn realizes she can feel the tension in him. She thinks that he wants to move -- wants to actually fuck her, instead of just waiting to fuck her -- and that he's holding back. For her sake. "It's okay," she says, trying to be reassuring. "Tell me. You know, what to do?"

Spike gives her breast another squeeze and then moves both hands to her waist. "Move like this," he says, demonstrating by lifting her up and then letting gravity pull her back down onto his cock.

Her hand on his chest clenches involuntarily at the sensation of him sliding back into her, and her fingernails scratch his pale skin. Spike hisses and for a second Dawn's afraid she hurt him -- and then there are a few seconds when she *knows* she's hurt him, because there's a tiny bead of blood next to his nipple -- but then he lifts his hips, pushes into her deeper, and she knows he liked it.

"Good girl," he says. "That's my good, amazing, wonderful girl."

Dawn shivers at the praise, and then again when Spike pulls her t-shirt roughly over her head. She's completely naked, and he's inside of her, and suddenly her eyes are filled with tears and she covers her breasts with her arms.

"There." Spike reaches out and pulls her arms back down again, brushes gentle fingers underneath her eyes to wipe away the tears. "There sweetheart, don't you cover yourself up now. You're beautiful, and I'm so damned lucky... You all right? You want to stop?"

She shakes her head, both to deny the tears and to answer his question. She doesn't want to stop. She lifts herself off of him a little bit like he showed her-- and now when she does this it feels like something is missing, like his cock belongs in there -- and then sinks back down.

"Jesus," Spike says, "Dawn. You're so bloody tight, I can't -- " And suddenly he's moving beneath her, and his hands are on her hips, holding her still. His cock is pushing into her harder, and it's starting to feel good. Then he groans, low in his throat, and she can feel him throbbing inside of her.

Spike is coming inside of her. It feels cool and, well, nice. She likes it, and she likes the way his eyes are closed and his mouth is open, and the way his arm muscles are corded into what looks more like steel than flesh.

When he's finished, he doesn't stop moving like Dawn thought he would. When she'd done it before, with that boy, it had lasted about two minutes and after he came, he'd pulled out of her and got dressed and left. She hadn't realized that Spike would still be hard, that he'd keep fucking her. "Aren't you, um...?" she tries to ask after a minute.

"Done?" Spike chuckles softly, and he sounds more like the Spike who left Sunnydale in that moment than he has since she got here. "Oh no, sweetheart, we're nowhere close to done. We're just getting started."

It's slow and languid, and after a while they change positions and Dawn finds herself on the bottom with Spike on top of her, his weight carefully propped up on his arms. He thrusts slowly, but deeply, deep into her, getting into her in a way she didn't know was possible. His mouth is on hers, and then it's on her breasts, licking, sucking at her nipples until she wants to scream.

Dawn trembles, and she knows that she's supposed to come too, but she doesn't know how, not like this. She can do it herself, with her fingers, of course. This is different. This is Spike, and his cock is so hard, and the way it slides into her isn't something she was ready for.

"Come here," Spike says, pulling out of her and lifting her up onto her knees. He kisses her, then turns her around so that his chest is against her back. She can feel his erection, slippery and warm, probing between her thighs. Spike's knees push hers apart slightly, and then his cock shoves into her again and she gasps.

The angle is different, it feels... better, and she's not sure that she'd realized it could. Spike's big hands are on her breasts, cupping them, his fingers pinching her nipples.

He whispers things into her ear, dirty things that make her blush. "You're so hot, Christ, just being inside you's like heaven. Could do this all day. Could do this forever. You like this?"

"Yes," she whispers, embarrassed but truthful, glad that his face is pressed to the back of her neck and he can't see her expression.

"You like me fucking you?" Spike thrusts faster.


"Say it."

Dawn blushes more furiously, feeling the heat in her cheeks, but she says, "I like you fucking me."

"You want to come for me?"

She shivers, and Spike lifts her a little bit higher, her thighs resting on his as he continues to fuck her, his sharp pelvic bones bumping her ass.

"Answer me," Spike orders, his voice still sweet but not leaving any room for disobedience.

"Y-yes," Dawn stammers. "I want to come." As soon as the words leave her lips she knows just how badly she wants -- *needs* -- to come, and she moans. "Please. Please, Spike?"

"Good girl," he says. His right hand leaves her breast and slides down between her legs, his fingertips finding her clit again, and he pulls out and slams back into her, harder than before.

"Spike..." It's a whimper, and she doesn't care about being embarrassed anymore because he feels so good inside of her.

"That's my girl. Come on, sweetheart -- come for me."

Dawn's so close that she's shaking all over. Spike's rolling her nipple between his fingers, and he presses on her clit with an easy rhythm that's suddenly just right, and his cock moves out and in and out and in and... With a shriek that echoes in her ears and the room, Dawn comes, her whole body shuddering with the force of it.

"Yeah. Isn't that good? You're such a good girl, Dawn." Spike's still moving even as her orgasm starts to fade, and she realizes that he wants to come again. "Good girl. Just let me..." He pushes on her shoulders, gently, urging her down onto her hands and knees.

She's vaguely aware that this position is what's sometimes called doggy-style. His cock can go deeper -- deepest -- like this, and he's fucking her so fast that her head is spinning. One of his hands is clutching her breast again, squeezing it, and the other one is on her hip, keeping her steady as he thrusts. It's only another minute before Spike comes, almost silently, frozen against her as his cock pulses inside her.

They collapse together onto the bed and Spike gathers her close, stroking her hair, tracing her lower lip with a finger that smells like her own juices.

"You all right?" he asks.

"Mm-hmm." Dawn burrows closer, feeling safe for the first time since Buffy died.

"Think you can sleep now?"

"If you stay."

"Oh, don't worry," Spike says, and she thinks she can hear a faint chuckle in his voice. "It'd take a crowbar to get me away from you, sweetheart."

"Really?" Dawn knows she sounds stupidly hopeful, but doesn't think she cares.

"Really." Spike kisses her forehead. "Go to sleep, Dawn. I'll be right here."

With a smile on her face, she drifts off to sleep.


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