His Lady - Spike/Dawn
Genre: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Spike/Dawn, Spike's POV.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Don't own it, don't claim to.
Distribution: Ask for permission before putting it elsewhere. Thanks in advance.
I might do more with this if it's any good. X-posted to penplay, my writing journal.
Her hands were small and delicate, like her bones and her lips and her beautiful eyes. Spike watched them with an obscene interest as they flexed, her fingers moving gracefully as she wrote or typed, her hands as they grasped her hairbrush or fumbled with her earrings. He had never watched her undress. He had never watched her as she slept. Spike tried in vain to curb his fascination with the Slayer’s sister, but he never could quite shake it.
The tree outside her window proved to be a perfect hiding place. There were trees all over the Summers’ yard, and being perched in the one closest to Dawn made Spike feel both extremely happy and slightly ashamed. Yes, it was true that everyone in the entire household was too young for him, even Joyce. Technically, he should have been dead twice over. But in his mind, he was still a very young man who had yet to experience a real, true love with anyone. He thought he had found it in Buffy. So many nights he thought of kissing her, possessing her, having rough and tumble sex with her as he did with the Buffybot. The longing in his heart progressed, though. Buffy wasn’t the one, he knew that. First Cecily, then Dru, Harmony, now Buffy. An endless string of women, alive and undead, who he had tried to plug into his wounded heart to make it all better.
Now he sat outside of Dawn’s room, watching her, keeping a worshipful distance from her. After all, he was a Victorian man, with Victorian morals, and the first tenet of conduct was that he be respectful of his lady. His lady. He chuckled at the thought of this girl, who was still completely off limits to him, as his lady. He could wait, though. He had all the time in the world.
Pairing: Spike/Dawn, Spike's POV.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Don't own it, don't claim to.
Distribution: Ask for permission before putting it elsewhere. Thanks in advance.
I might do more with this if it's any good. X-posted to penplay, my writing journal.
Her hands were small and delicate, like her bones and her lips and her beautiful eyes. Spike watched them with an obscene interest as they flexed, her fingers moving gracefully as she wrote or typed, her hands as they grasped her hairbrush or fumbled with her earrings. He had never watched her undress. He had never watched her as she slept. Spike tried in vain to curb his fascination with the Slayer’s sister, but he never could quite shake it.
The tree outside her window proved to be a perfect hiding place. There were trees all over the Summers’ yard, and being perched in the one closest to Dawn made Spike feel both extremely happy and slightly ashamed. Yes, it was true that everyone in the entire household was too young for him, even Joyce. Technically, he should have been dead twice over. But in his mind, he was still a very young man who had yet to experience a real, true love with anyone. He thought he had found it in Buffy. So many nights he thought of kissing her, possessing her, having rough and tumble sex with her as he did with the Buffybot. The longing in his heart progressed, though. Buffy wasn’t the one, he knew that. First Cecily, then Dru, Harmony, now Buffy. An endless string of women, alive and undead, who he had tried to plug into his wounded heart to make it all better.
Now he sat outside of Dawn’s room, watching her, keeping a worshipful distance from her. After all, he was a Victorian man, with Victorian morals, and the first tenet of conduct was that he be respectful of his lady. His lady. He chuckled at the thought of this girl, who was still completely off limits to him, as his lady. He could wait, though. He had all the time in the world.