Ten Years After

Chapter 21

When Spike arrived in Dawn’s hotel room he was in full Tigger mode. He had that ‘bouncing on the balls of my feet’ look and a smile as big as any that Dawn had ever seen on his face.

His greeting kiss was almost fleeting, and he picked Dawn up and spun her around as well as he could in the confined space, laughing as she laughed.

“You’re happy!” Dawn said to him as he put her down on her feet again.

“Yeah! Why not?” Spike answered. “Did a deal last night that got me a couple of thousand Euros and, instead of having to keep a low profile for the rest of your visit to ‘Gay Paree’, I’ve got you all to myself as Buffy’s buggered off to try and get the low-down on your Keyness ‘cause she thinks Giles’ll tell her things he hasn’t told you!

“Not that I think he will”, he continued. “From what Red said, he has no intention of keeping anything about yourself from you.”

“I should think not!” Dawn said, smiling, “But if Buffy thinks she’s going to be more in the loop at Willow’s, I’m cool with it.”

“’N before you ask, no blood was shed in the making of the couple of thousand Euros.” Spike said.

“Wasn’t going to ask.” Dawn said, ‘It’s your business.” ‘Even though’, she thought, ‘I might have wondered!’

“Big Sis did us another favour as well, turning up like that,” Spike went on, after a moment. “No worries now about what to tell her, or when to tell her, ‘bout you or you and me. Deed’s done.

”And we know for sure that she’s long over anything she might have felt for me, and that all I felt for her was a bit sorry, and a bit annoyed, compared with how I felt about you. Which was proud of the way you stood up to her, and like I wanted to slap her hard every time she was bitchy to you, or gave you one of those looks!

“So, the sky is clear, the moon is nearly full, and I’m taking the most amazing woman in the whole world out to dinner in Paris; to quote Red, ‘what’s not to like?’

“Grab your coat Miss Summers, and wait till you see where we’re going.” He finished, bouncing on the balls of his feet again.

They walked through the streets of Paris hand in hand. Dawn told Spike about her request to Willow to talk to Xander for her.

“Too right – head him off at the pass!” Spike said, laughing. “Do without him turning up with the wrong end of the stick! Be good to see him sometime maybe – but not now.”

They turned into the Rue St Paul and then Spike suddenly turned Dawn towards a small white fronted restaurant and doffed and flourished an imaginary hat as he waved Dawn forwards. She started to laugh again, as she read the name ‘Bayou la Seine’ and the description – Cajun Restaurant.

“Good, eh?” Spike asked. “Is good, too – I’ve been before. Cajun, Creole, both French roots anyway, so figures it’s the only decent American cooking you’ll find in Paris!”

They continued to giggle like a pair of teenagers on a date as they entered, and were shown to their table – Buffy’s departure seemed to have removed a pressure that they had not been fully aware of before her arrival.

Their waiter was an American guy in his thirties who asked Dawn where in the States she was from, and when she told him “Sunnydale”, nodded sympathetically, and said “Tough eh? I’m from New Orleans – no wonder we’re both in Paris.”

When Dawn decided to start with fried green tomatoes, Spike grinned and said he’d have oysters – after all everyone knows what they are good for! The waiter grinned too as he left, just in time to miss Dawn asking whether they would work in Spike’s case – whilst trying to keep a straight face. ‘And if I’m any judge of underwear’, she thought, conscious of the sensation of stockings instead of pantyhose, ‘you won’t need them anyway!’

As she tucked in to a large plate of barbeque shrimp on rice, and Spike did a good job of demolishing an equally large portion of jambalaya, Dawn gave him a sideways glance, and said that of course she might end up too full for anything other than sleep, with all this wonderful food.

“Bet you don’t,” he answered, “Miss Frustration, wasn’t it? Anyway – I’ll make sure you walk enough of it off to have an appetite for ‘things’ later – take you back to Vieux Saule the long way round. Or you could just skip dessert!”

“Skip dessert? I’m a healthy young American lady – see me skipping dessert with a menu like that?” Dawn retorted, and so they continued. It was one of the happiest meals Dawn could ever remember.

Dessert was not skipped. Dessert was pecan pie and Mississippi mud pie – which they shared equally – arguing over who was eating the most.

Eventually, after coffee, nearly three hours after they arrived, they left ‘Bayou la Seine’ with the good wishes of their waiter still ringing in their ears, and started to walk back to Dawn’s hotel.

They started walking hand-in-hand but at the first corner Spike pulled Dawn closer for the first kiss of many to delay them en route. They didn’t really move apart again; the similarity in height, and leg-length, meant walking with arms around each other’s waists was natural and easy.

The walk to the restaurant had taken about fifteen minutes – the walk back took more than twice as long, kisses on corners got deeper, bodies got closer and closer. By the time that they were halfway there hands were creeping under coats and jumpers during kissing breaks. Dawn, now used to the cool feel of Spike’s skin under her hands and his hands cool on her arousal-warmed skin, wondered how she had ever been turned on by hot sweaty male bodies.

It took until they were only a few minutes from Vieux Saule for Spike’s thigh to be pressed so close to Dawn’s that he registered the tiny bump of a suspender. Dawn felt rather than saw the ripple of awareness across his face and through his body. Then his hand moved sensuously up the back of her thigh, over her skirt, until he found the second one, and his thumb pressed on the tiny nub of rubber, and then circled it.

He made a low appreciative sound, wordless because his mouth was occupied with Dawn’s mouth; and, where he pressed even closer to her, she could feel a sudden hard bulge in his pants where previously she had been aware of only a semi-erection.

He pulled his face back slightly, and grinned. Dawn could make his expression out by the light of a street lamp, and saw the tongue sweep over the teeth, and the eye-brow raise, before he ‘twanged’ the back suspender slightly through her skirt; then purposefully he pulled her even closer and using his hand on her ass to tip her hips forward he rubbed his cock, straining at the fabric of his pants, against her.

“You know that you are one very sexy lady?” he asked. Continuing, before Dawn could decide whether to answer, with “I could fuck you right here, right now, so easily you know. But I think I want to wait, and see what I’m doing properly – at least tonight. Unless you want it right now?”

Dawn rubbed her self against his body, but answered, somewhat reluctantly, “Not right here this time, I want us to be able to see properly too – this time!”

As they entered the hotel, Spike said “I think this is definitely a champagne night. I’ll sort it and be with you in a minute.”

Dawn went on up, took off her coat, and turned both the bed and the lights down. She thought of stripping to the underwear, and arranging herself on the bed, but decided that removing the skirt and jumper would be part of the fun.

This time Spike arrived with not just the champagne and the glasses, but with the bottle in an ice-bucket on a trolley, with roses and chocolate truffles.

“Barman fancies you, pet!” he said smiling, “or possibly me, but I think it’s you!”

He took off his coat, poured out champagne, and sat down, making as if to pull Dawn onto his knee, but she resisted.

Standing in front of him she slowly eased her jumper up over her breasts, over her head, and left it on the floor.

Spike gazed at her, letting out a slow whistle, but not making any move to pull her towards him again.

Slowly she unbuttoned her skirt, and let it drop on top of her jumper, stepping away from both, and executing a slow twirl just out of Spike’s reach.

This time he spoke. “Bloody Hell! That is what I call gift wrapping! When can I undo the ribbons?”

“Not just yet.” Dawn answered firmly. “But you can have a closer look,” she continued, coming towards him and taking her glass of champagne.

As she went to sit on his lap Spike held her off at arm’s length with a hand to her waist and, glancing down, Dawn realised that his pants were stretched so tautly over his swollen cock that he must be downright uncomfortable.

“Poor Spike!” she said looking pointedly in that direction. “Let me.” She put her glass down briefly, knelt beside the chair, but before touching his zipper she tugged his jumper up and off, and tossed it onto the floor with her own clothes.

She ran her finger nails gently down from his shoulders to his waistband and then slowly and carefully pulled down the zipper, inch by inch, until his cock was released from its imprisonment and bobbed against his abdomen as if kissing his navel.

Dawn caressed it gently with one hand, whilst she took a mouthful of champagne, all popping bubbles, and then took the head of the cock in her mouth as well. She wondered what the sensation must be like as the bubbles burst against so tender a spot, for a vampire with their hyped up sensory system.

‘Pretty damned good, probably,” she thought, looking at Spike’s face.

She didn’t stay like that for long but pulled back slightly, looked Spike in the eye and swallowed the champagne very deliberately, then grinned. He licked his lips, and then grinned back.

“Thought you might like stockings,” Dawn said.

“Yeah. Never really took to pantyhose. Suspender belt was one of the great inventions of the twentieth century though – ribbon garters either cut off the circulation or let the stockings slip. And on legs like yours….” Spike answered.

Dawn noted with interest his choice of words – ‘suspender belt’, but ‘pantyhose’.

‘Bet he was in the UK in the twenties, and the US in the 60s or 70s’, she though inconsequentially, as she got gracefully to her feet.

She stood between Spikes legs, slowly sipping her champagne, and twitching her nose as the bubbles tickled it. Spike reached out and ran his fingers sensually up and down her stockinged legs but, as he had been told to, stayed away from the ribbons that were all that kept her knickers on.

After a couple of minutes of this Dawn felt as if her legs were major-league erogenous zones, and the phrase ‘weak at the knees’ was becoming a reality. She moved from standing to kneeling – one leg on either side of Spike where he sat in the armchair – silk covered pussy resting against hard cock.

The pressure was good; the expression on Spike’s face was better; the way his hands moved to her buttocks and rocked her gently backwards and forward was best.

In the back of Dawn’s mind alongside the sensory input was a thought going ‘Hey! Frottage! Definite frottage!’ and she laughed out loud as she leaned a little further forward, so that her silk clad breasts were touching Spike’s chest. A boyfriend in the past had used ‘Frottage!’ as his exclamation of choice and she had a sudden urge to burst out with the word – but didn’t – she’d tell Spike later.

Spike smiled at her laughter, and then brought his head forward so that his lips and tongue prevented further laughter for some time.

The rhythmical rocking soon made Dawn feel more than laughter welling up inside her. The familiar sensations spreading up from pussy to breasts, the tightening and tingling of muscles and nerves, she would soon bubble over like champagne from the bottle.

Before that happened she moved again, just a little, taking her weight up onto her knees on the chair. Spike broke off the kiss and looked slightly questioningly at her, then realised what she was doing as she moved her knickers to one side with her fingers and tilted her hips a little to try and slide his cock inside her rather than keeping it between them. He pushed up with his hips and was soon buried in her up to the hilt.

Spike’s hands were still on Dawn’s ass, either side of the sliver of silk that formed the back of the knickers, but now he slowly brought them around to the fronts of her thighs and caressed the skin between stocking top and knickers. Whilst Dawn set the rhythm on her own now, he splayed his fingers a little more, and brought his thumbs to meet just where Dawn’s movements brought her silk-covered clitoris; it took very little pressure before she felt her orgasm becoming unstoppable, pushing its way up from her pussy until she felt as if her whole body was an explosion of colours.

Dawn yelled out loud, making Spike grin with pleasure and hug her close as she relaxed down from the sensory overload, ‘Strike!’ she thought.

She paused for a little while, still ‘spiked’, then moved on Spike’s lap a little and kissed him briefly before sliding up off him to stand again between his legs.

“You can undo the ribbons now,” she told him, “and maybe take your pants off!”

Spike smiled, or possibly smirked, stood up and stepped out of his pants which he carefully added to the pile on the floor. He moved in close to Dawn, his erect cock just touching her, and slowly undid the ribbons and removed the scrap of fabric that would now smell of Dawn.

Dawn stood in her bra, stockings, garter-belt and shoes, and Spike reached one hand up to caress a nipple that was trying to escape over a bra-cup; his other hand drawn almost inexorably back to a stocking top.

Dawn’s hands slid down between them until she was holding Spike’s cock in one hand, caressing his balls with her other. She enjoyed the feel of him in her hands - his cock was as big and as hard as any she had known – and as her thumb slid across the head, slippery with juices from both of them, she savoured the sensation and thought how very ‘alive’ this all felt.

“Turn around?” Spike’s voice sounded slightly harsh, and Dawn knew he was very aroused. She let her fingers trail away from him, and did as he asked; she moved a few steps until she was facing the back of the chair they had so recently vacated, gripped it, thrust her butt back towards Spike and grinning at him over her shoulder, wriggled her ass in invitation.

Spike grasped her shoulders, and pushed up hard into her, his hands then drawn back to the tops of her thighs where stocking tops met bare flesh.

“Yes!” said Dawn, “Fuck me! Hard!”

Spike obliged.

He came with a triumphant yell to match Dawn’s earlier one, ‘Second Strike!’ she thought.

Strike three followed some little time later, by which time Dawn had shed the bra and shoes, and was down to the garter belt and stockings. It gave her the nearest thing she was likely to get to an answer to her earlier unvoiced question – involving as it did a mouthful of very cold champagne bathing an already very sensitive clit, bubbles popping, before a final slick of an ice-cold tongue.

Strikes four and five were almost simultaneous, but did not include champagne – that had been drunk in a pause after strike three. They did however involve four hands, two tongues, four nipples, two or three other bits of anatomy, and resulted in Dawn’s breasts being covered in what someone had once referred to as ‘cold, dead seed’.

‘I think I like the feel of it better than the common or garden version,’ she mused silently as Spike languidly drew circles with his fingers in it around her nipples.

It was getting very late, and Dawn was beginning to feel sleepy, she could feel her eyelids drooping.

“You going to sleep, pet?” she heard Spike’s voice asking.

“Mmm. Don’t want to, we’re having such fun,” she answered, “but I think I’ll have to stop. And we haven’t get around to the truffles,” she added somewhat inconsequentially.

Spike gently removed the cream silk stockings for her then reached behind her to undo the ribbon lacing that held the suspender belt in place.

“You sleep, sexy lady, and ‘less you’ve got something very exciting planned for your day tomorrow, I promise we’ll find interesting things to do with the truffles,” he said.

Dawn smiled, and as she drifted off to sleep she thought ‘I think I was right about Spike and stockings.’


  • Chapter 22

  • The characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only and all rights remain with Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the writers of the original episodes, and the TV and production companies responsible for the original television shows. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER ©2002 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. All Rights Reserved. The Buffy the Vampire Slayer trademark is used without express permission from Fox.