so shocking where's your sense
The bath I take as soon as I get home must've lasted for hours. I keep draining the tub partially and filling it up again so the water wouldn't get cold. I think I fell asleep at one point, so I climb out and head to bed so I wouldn't drown, 'cause this would be a bad time in my life to drown. But once in bed, I can't sleep. I just lay there,
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"I like it when you're on top."
Not going to get any arguments from me. But it's funny. Dawn could do anything to me. She could've tied me up, hurt me, anything. I'm not the submissive type, but I was willing to let her do what she liked. And she wanted me to go on top. Guess that said something. Firstly that she's not as bad yet as she thinks, and secondly that she might like to be the submissive one. Makes sense; she has to be so strong the rest of the time.
"Like a dominant man, do you, pet?" I whisper, letting my hands move from behind my head and stroke her face as we kiss, and then I flip her over, one smooth movement, and now I'm on top. Dawn's still wearing her skirt and bra, and I'm still jean clad. I lower myself onto her, rubbing against her. The friction is torture for me and I want to tear off my remaining clothes and enter her, but another part of me wants her to ask for it. I like a girl who asks.
I pull her skirt up around her waist and I press my denim-clad hardness against her knickers. I can feel her throbbing through the thin fabric as I move up and down slowly, listening to her breath quicken.
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He moves against me and my heart speeds up, my lungs can't get enough air and my blood rushes to the surface. I flush as his cool skin brushes mine, entirely too warm. I want him to have some of my heat, I don't want him to be cold. I can feel him through the fabric that separates us and I want it gone, the stupid fabric, there should be nothing between us.
"Tell me," I whisper, my eyes half-open, watching him, his beautiful, intense face above me, "what do you like?" My gaze flickers meaningfully to the small pile of toys and things on the nightstand. It's bad and wrong, but I want him to take me and use me, because that's what I like. Not with everyone, but with him, it just seems right, that he should be the one in control.
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"You're a lovely thing, pet," I said softly.
"Tell me," she says, looking at me through hooded eyes, "what do you like?" She glances over to the goodies on the nightstand and I feel myself warm, seeing those wicked things. I sit up, my crotch still pressed into her knickers, and reach over for a packet. I tear it open with my teeth and take out what I've found.
"I like this," I say, dangling the handcuffs from my fingers. "I like chains even more, but we'll work with what we have," I add softly, wondering if this will alarm her. Probably not. She knows enough about me by now. I open the cuffs. She's got a chance to say no now, and I want her to take it if she needs to. "I don't usually use safety words," I say quietly, looking into her eyes. "Sort of spoils the fun, don't you think?" Because I'm not the kind of man who lets no be an option. Not once things have started, and she needs to know that.
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"Chains?" I raise my eyebrows, mouth curving into a smile. That's pretty hardcore. There have been boys who played at this stuff, tried to tie me up and dominate me but they never could. It wasn't real. I was stronger than all of them and we both knew it, even though we tried to pretend. With Spike, there's no pretending. He can control me so easily, and the scary thing is, I like that thought. Whatever happened to Dawn Summers?
"I guess I'll have to trust you then." No safety words. When he moves towards me, once we start, we won't stop. He won't stop. I shift against the bed, feeling the various aches and bruises from the previous night, and wonder what this will be like. Different, I think. Not drunken and hurried but slow, explorative. Okay, it's not exactly what most couples do on their first night together, but Spike and I aren't exactly most couples...
I watch him above me, waiting for him to move. I'm not going to say no. Although I technically don't know his name, barely know him at all, I want him. I want this new chance.
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I run my fingers over the chain linking the two cuffs. It is cool, and sends a gentle shiver through me as I imagine the cuffs on her. I'm moving slowly, savouring the moment. Then I run the end of the cuffs over Dawn's stomach gently, letting her feel the chill of the metal.
The cuffs open with a small key that I place on the nightstand. I stroke her wrists gently, my thumb pressing against the blue line of her vein.
"Put your arms above your head," I say quietly, and I slip the first cuff onto her left wrist, then feed the chain through the headboard and place the other cuff on her right. I let her feel it there for a long moment before I click it shut. No going back. Not now.
Dawn's skirt is around her waist, and slowly, deftly I peel it off, dropping it on the floor. She's in her underwear now, but I've still got my jeans on. It's part of the control. She's more naked than me, because I'm calling the shots.
I want to tease her until she begs to be filled. It will be slow, not like last night - but it will be as memorable, I reckon. I run my fingers slowly along the curve of her instep, up her thigh, but miss the obvious spot. Instead my fingers stroke along the edge of her knickers, teasing just underneath the elastic, and I kiss along the base of her stomach.
I sit back, my fingers still stroking her, still not quite reaching her most sensitive spots, and reach into my pocket. I bring out a penknife. I flick it open. The blade is small, but bright, and I let her see it. Let her wonder what I plan to do with it.
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He pulls off my skirt and I hold my breath, feeling the material slide down my legs until it's gone, tossed away and all I can think is I'm glad I wore nice underwear. Not like it matters because I don't think Spike is the type to be impressed by lingerie. Well, maybe, but I doubt it. Especially right now, underwear is not what I would be paying attention to. He's still wearing his jeans, so I watch the muscles of his chest shift under his skin, sliding my gaze down to his tight pants. I know what's there and I want it, but I have a feeling it would be a while coming.
His fingers run over my skin and he's cold. That makes me shiver too and my breath catches in my throat. I want him to touch me, take me, I want that release but he's in charge and I don't think he'll let that happen quite yet. Then he flicks open the knife.
My eyes go wide. He wouldn't kill me. He couldn't. Well, he could, quite easily, especially in such a compromising position, and he did warn me. But no, I don't think he'll kill me. Not with a knife. But he could hurt me. A lot. No safety words. Spike wouldn't do it... but this isn't Spike. Not the Spike I know. Who knows what could happen if his demon gets loose?
Holding my breath, I watch him as he watches me. I really hope he's just going to use that to cut the rest of my clothes off or something. I'm not really into bloodplay, although I imagine he would be.
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I look at her for a long moment, and then I draw the blade across my palm. Just lightly, so the skin is just scratched open.
"Taste it," I say, holding my palm to her mouth. It can't do anything to her, of course - takes a lot more blood than that - but I like the power element, and the surprise of it. I press my palm into her lips until I feel blood drip into her mouth, and then I take my hand back and wipe it against my bare chest. It is healing over already.
With the knife I cut her bra off. Simplest thing to do, really, since her hands are tied, so I can't slip her straps from her shoulders. I like the soft sound the material makes as it's cut. I take the remnants of the bra and drop them on the floor. The underwiring has left a soft line on her skin. I trace the flat side of the blade along it, then put the knife back on the table.
Her nipples are hard in the cool air of the room. I kiss her breasts softly, my lips cold too, but my tongue is warm, and I let it flicker over her breasts. I rub my cut hand over her left breast and then lick my own blood from her. It has a familiar taste. It's probably a bit weird, but it's better than me drinking from her. A bit of blood always arouses my senses - in all ways.
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He presses his palm against my lips and I taste his blood on my tongue - but it's not really his, is it? His blood went to Drusilla, and this is blood of innocent victims. Blood of that boy that I took home last week. The boy that I took home and as good as killed. And now I'm sleeping with his killer. Why don't I feel worse about this? I lick my lips and look at the crimson smear across Spike's pale skin. I want to lick it but that's the thing about being tied up. I can't.
The knife slips under my bra and slides through the cloth. As the remains of it are flung, all I can think is damn, more expensive lingerie ruined. I never seem to pick the ones who are careful with my clothes. Or maybe it's just Spike. Although I know he's morally ambiguous to steal me anything I want to replace what he ruined. Although right now, clothes are the least of my concerns.
He runs the blade over my skin and I shiver. As he puts it away, I can't say I'm not relieved, and I relax a little. Then a little bit more as his mouth travels over my body. It's crazy how he can make me go from totally tense to all relaxed in moments. I don't want to trust him, but I do anyway, and yet I'm not all comfortable with him, especially since he's not my Spike. He's virtually a stranger, and that says something about me right now, doesn't it?
"You can do it, you know," I whisper, and I know that my voice probably shakes a bit. I thought about it... how will I know him for what he really is if I don't come up against it? Really come up against it, Spike as what he really is, the demon. He knows what I'm talking about. I want to know what it's like...
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"I know I can, pet," I say softly. "But I don't know if I should." Got to be about the first time I've ever had a willing victim. Some vamps like girls who hold out their necks. Wasn't really my style. But there certainly was an appeal to it. Can't say I hadn't wondered what she would taste like. That was the rub, of course. If I tasted, I'd want more. And when you drank, it was hard to stop, cos the whole world fell away. There was just your mouth and the victim's heart and that was the universe.
I let my face change, letting the demon out. She's seen me like this before, of course, but not in a situation like this. I kiss her with a mouth that's crammed with teeth, the ridges of my demon face pressing against her soft skin.
I look at the whiteness of her throat. It's tempting to bury myself there, but it's too soon. If I drink from someone's throat, I mean death or... Well, it means options I don't want for Dawn. Even though part of me does.
Instead I lower my mouth to the top of her breast. Not like I haven't killed people by drinking from places other that their necks, but it doesn't have the same - symbolism or whatever. Like I should give a sod about that, but it turns out it does matter a bit, in the end.
I bite. There isn't an artery here, so the blood doesn't jet, but it still fills my mouth. And I'm drowning again, feeling her heart pull frantically, feeding me even as it struggles, its own nature betraying it. And as I drink I move my fingers between her legs, touching the areas I'd avoided, feeling them through the thin silk of her knickers. It's tempting to keep drinking, because I know - know because it happened to me - that when you're drunk from, the pain soon fades and then everything is hazy, and there's almost a sensual pleasure in dying. But I'm not here to kill Dawn, so I force my mouth away before her heart starts to flicker and slow, and I look at her, her blood staining my now-human mouth as my fingers continue to move languidly against her.
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Then he bites. It's not on my neck, which I guess would feel more like a kill, make me more vulnerable. His mouth is over my breast, and it's a sharp pain, then a dull throb as the blood flows. I gasped, or maybe cried out as it happened, I can't really remember. But as the pain fades and I feel Spike's tongue on my skin and his hand moves down, my head falls back and my breathing speeds up. It hurts a little, but feels good at the same time, and my body feels lighter. I close my eyes and the darkness is full of stars. I wrap my fingers around the bars of the bed so I don't float away.
Then he pulls away, although his fingers don't, and I open my eyes to look at him. He's all human now, and my blood is on his lips. I can taste it in my mouth, too, but I imagine it's different for him. I want to pull him down to me, but can't, so I just whisper his name instead as I feel the blood slide over my skin.
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There's dark depths to this one, alright.
I lean in and kiss her, then finally take her knickers off. All in one piece this time. I drop them onto the floor and look at her. Her bruises from last night are fresh. I see the marks on her thighs where I hurt her. And I remember how she enjoyed it.
Didn't reckon I could get any harder, but I can. I take off my jeans at last so I too am naked. I wipe my mouth with my hand and streak the blood across my chest, mingling with the blood from my hand. I'm naked and bloody, just like her, and I feel strangely vulnerable even though she's the one who's chained up.
I lower myself onto her, wrapping her legs around my waist. I position myself outside her entrance.
"Tell me you want it," I say gruffly, something between a request and a demand.
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Then, as my head still spins a bit from the blood loss, just a little, but just enough to feel it, our clothes are gone and Spike's on top of me. The bruises and bite marks on my body brush against his skin and I wince 'cause it hurts, stings a little. Old wounds about to be made new.
I glance up at him, feeling the blood cool on my breast, and see the twin marks on his chest, dark red smears against perfect pale skin. I kind of still can't believe this is real, that I'm not just fourteen year-old Dawn Summers having one hell of a dream. Spike is really here and he wants me, touching me like I'm his and he's never giving me up. Like I've always wanted.
"Tell me you want it," and I do. "I want it," I whisper, barely an audible sound, but I know he can hear me because, hello, demon. I'm sleeping with a demon, just like Buffy, but Spike's not Angel. Not even close. He's darker and wilder and mine.
I wrap my legs around his hips tighter, drawing in a hissing breath at the pressure against my bruises. "Please, Spike."
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She says please and I growl in my throat involuntarily, my desire so strong now. I feel her legs tighten about me and I guide myself into her. She's wet, of course, and her slickness surrounds me as I push myself into her fully.
I stroke her skin around the handcuffs and I look straight into her eyes.
"You're beautiful, pet," I say quietly, taking in her face and her bruises, and then I let my face change again. She's going to be fucked by a demon tonight, alright. And it means I can move harder and faster, pounding into her,hearing her heart thump, and I hear myself snarl, the kind of sound I make before killing someone, except I don't want to kill Dawn - unless it's death by fucking. I hear the handcuffs clink against the bed, and I'm lost in her.
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I wonder if I would be here right now if I'd cared more.
Not that it matters. Spike growls and drives himself into me and I cry out, closing my eyes briefly, stars dancing behind my eyes from the sudden, sharp pain. But it feels good, too, a sweet fullness, a sense of, strangely, completeness. I feel his fingers on my wrists and open my eyes to find him looking at me. Not my Spike, someone else's Spike, of a whole different time, a dangerous stranger, and yet he's here with me. It doesn't make sense but it kind of does in a weird way. We're both timeless.
"You're beautiful, pet," he says and then his face shifts and it's the demon looking down at me. It makes my heart jump, every time, especially now, seeing him as countless victims have. And I'm totally helpless. He snarls and my breath catches in my throat. My thighs are bruising all over again and I cry out again because it both hurts and feels good and I can't really tell where the line is anymore. And I love it. And...
"I love you," I whisper, almost inaudibly, eyes barely open, watching Spike's demon face above me.
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"I love you," she whispers, and I'm shocked. The words send a thrill up my spine but I'm not sure whether it's pleasure or fear. Maybe again it's just two sides of the same thing. I don't say anything, just let the sensation of our movement take me, and her, over the brink, and at the last I call out and collapse against her.
After a moment I reach for the key and unlock the handcuffs, letting her arms down. I hold her in my arms, smelling blood and sweat, the best of smells, and I think about what she said. I want to say that it's not true, cos she's just a girl, but that's not right, is it? Cos Buffy was younger and knew far less about the world when she fell for Angel. Dawn's seen a hell of a lot more at 18 than Buffy had, even though she was the Slayer. And she certainly knows more about the world than I ever did when I was her age. Dawn's not some romantic kid. She knows what I am. But all the same, can she love me, really? Or does she just love the fulfillment of her fourteen year old fantasy? I dunno.
And thinking, after shagging, is a bit tricky, so I let my eyes close and I relax against Dawn, trying not to think at all.
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Spike unlocks the handcuffs and wraps his arms around me and I slowly let my arms fall. I glance at my wrists through my hair and there are angry red marks around them that will turn into bruises. My nails left pale crescents that quickly flood red and throb. My entire body throbs. Pain and pleasure blurred so close together that I can't really tell the difference anymore. Spike, what is he doing to me? What am I doing to him?
I wonder if I should've said what I've said. I mean, it's true, 'cause I know what I feel, and it's not like I just want to kiss him like I did when I was younger and want to fuck him, like I did later on. No, I care about him, I always did, and that's why it cut so deep when he left and when he came back, just like that. He didn't say anything. I wonder if he was scared? Freaked out? Fuck, I don't want to scare him away... I just got him back...
With a sign I curl up inside of his arms, tracing patterns over his chest with a fingertip. He's not sweaty, of course, but I am, and as our bodies cool I shiver slightly. The room is warm, but it's not hot, and he's not. Warm, I mean. But that's okay 'cause there's nowhere else I'd rather be right now. Which is kind of weird 'cause I'm in the arms of a vampire. Whatever.
He's still silent. I kiss his collarbone lightly and try not to think.
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