lokifan_import

So, I wrote this bit of PWP as comment!porn for

of_too_minds's manip. She has very kindly turned it into storyart for me! I'm so pleased!

I'm also a little shocked, to say the least, that my first Buffy fic is het. Did not see that coming.

Title: Playing Dress Up
Rating:
Word count: ~1200
Characters/pairings: Spike/Dawn. This is not HP, and it's not slash. Can't say I didn't warn you.
Summary: PWP with vampirism and schoolgirl kink. Who loves the internet?
Disclaimer: It belongs to the great god Joss. But I trust him not to sue.
Authors Notes: I have storyart! Whee! And putting it under the cut is killing me, I'll tell you that.

Spike smelled Dawn as soon as he got home: shampoo and musk, a hint of feminine arousal, and - What? He frowned as he walked up the stairs, recognising the peach perfume she'd worn as a teenager, rather than her usual sophisticated scent.

"Dawn?" he called.

"In here!"

He walked into the bedroom and choked.

She smiled up at him innocently, with just a hint of a wicked gleam in her blue eyes as he clutched at the doorframe.

"D- Dawn?"

"Hi Spike." God. Her voice was as adult as ever: smooth and amused, incongruous with the white shirt and long socks, so falsely innocent, and that skirt. She shifted on the bed and it rode a little further up her thighs. Spike nearly choked.

His eyes swept over her again, and she shifted a little once more, squirming under his voracious gaze. That got Spike back in the game, and he gave that old leer she never tired of, prowling closer. "So...wanting some help with the old homework, are we, nibblet?"

Their eyes met, and the game was on.

"Yeah. Math. You can do that, right - I mean you're old, and stuff. You probably have to count back to when you were alive."

Spike laughed indulgently, and sat next to her on the bed, leaning over to look at her book. He deliberately leaned in enough that her senses were filled with the creak of leather and the smell of smoke. But she wasn't going to be the first to give in and let go of this little game: she squirmed a little closer until her upper body was touching the line of his leg. Awareness of the touch made his right thigh prickle, unnecessary breath going thin.

"What's this, then?" he asked, his voice slightly rough at the feel of her body pressed against his leg.

"Algebra." Dawn's voice was a perfect mimicry of her own petulance at fifteen, but her movements were entirely adult. She was still teasing, squirming against him, her little kilt moving with the movement. She kept talking but Spike was no longer listening. His head was turned away, and his eyes were firmly on the tantalising sight of her pale, taut thighs, and the way with just... another... inch...

"Spike!" Dawn complained in a shrill voice, looking up at him. Spike winced. "You're not listening!"

"Sure I am, pet," he assured her, hands itching to run over her, caress her, insuate themselves between her thighs and move up towards her centre...

"You are not!" Her voice sounded again and Spike jumped guiltily. Shouldn't be having those thoughts about the Slayer's little sis, even a fiend like him knew that.

"Sorry," he said, guilt scrawled all over his face - he really wasn't good at covert operations. She pouted at him, still sprawled across the bed, and Spike's whole body tightened. God, if she was just a little older, but he couldn't take advantage of the nibblet's crush...

She turned on her back and spread her legs a little, still glaring. There was a shadowed space between her thighs now. Spike's resolve shattered.

"Just a little distracted, Bit," Spike said, his voice consciously deeper and smoother - cheap JD turned to single malt.

"Yeah?" She threw her head back, the easier to keep those piercing blue eyes on him. Spike's eyes met hers and for a moment they glittered with teasing darkness.

"Yeah," he breathed. He reached out and touched Dawn's face softly, his hand affectionate on her pale cheek. "There's this girl, see, and she drives me up the wall. She - " Spike stopped. Dawn's cool hand had closed around his wrist.

Their eyes met and held, as his hand was slowly moved down, from her face, skimming the soft skin of her neck, to cotton, until it finally closed over the firm swell of her left breast.

He breathed out in a stuttering sigh, no matter that it was needless, and squeezed. Her breath gave an answering stutter in return.

Spike moved his hand from her grip. She didn't fight; her eyes were still on his face, and Spike could feel it was locked in concentration. His hand slunk over her breast, then caressed across her flat stomach, some predator part of him exalting at the feel of her vulnerable belly beneath his hand.

The hand kept going, shifting from white cotton to the coarse material of her kilt, then past it to her trembling thigh. Dawn lay still, sitting up on her elbows and watching Spike's hand as it moved under her kilt. She spread her thighs to accomadate his movements.

Fuck. Spike's hand ghosted to the apex of her thighs. She gave a shocked gasp as his fingers touched her, thighs clenching around his wrist. Spike's face went stiff with arousal as he felt her damp knickers.

That was it. He shifted in an instant, sloughing off his coat to kneel beside her on the bed. His hands were suddenly free; he fisted them in her kilt and drew it up, to gaze on the open-legged, wanton bounty beneath.

He drew in a rattling gasp when he saw the little-girl white cotton knickers, damp with her lust.

"Come on." Dawn's patience with the game had ended, thrown away at her whim. As ever, Spike followed his girl’s lead. Cool hands with their long nails - painted with a French manicure for her schoolgirl look, instead of the usual lacquered purple - closed around his shoulders and drew him down.

They moved down his body and drew down his zipper. Wicked fingers tweaked the head of his cock and Spike gasped helplessly. He pressed forward, rutting against her soft, strong body, and she pressed their lips together. He groaned into her mouth, intoxicated. Her skillful touch drew him away from himself as easily as blood.

Spike's hands ripped at the knickers, pulling them away to leave her bare. He pressed Dawn down into the grey covers, hands at her thighs. His fingers would leave blue marks on her skin, he knew, but he was too far gone to care. So was she: her legs wrapped around his waist, cotton rubbing against his skin. Her clunky heels were digging into his back. “Get on with it!”

Dawn raised her hips impatiently, and Spike pushed in. He groaned again at the feel of her, tight and wet. Dawn threw her head back, her eyes closing, and moaned softly as he began to thrust. Her neck was long and enticing; images of blood blossomed behind Spike’s eyelids.

Her face was blissful, innocent even in its hunger with her wicked eyes hidden. Spike began to thrust harder, and Dawn ripped at her own shirt, opening it and exposing small breasts in a pink schoolgirl bra to his ravenous gaze. "Oh yes..."

The sight set Spike's hips pumping all the more rapidly, and Dawn met every thrust. He put his mouth against her chest, mouthing messily at her white flesh. She moaned, and he chuckled against her.

Dawn looked down in annoyance. She rolled her hips and Spike gave an answering moan, she an answering laugh.

The challenge was clear in the sets of matching gold eyes.