Heâs waiting for her when she comes out of Spikeâs crypt, stake in
hand, tapping it against his leg.
She tries to walk past him, chin high, eyes facing front...but his arm
comes out and bars the way, and she stops because it doesnât move,
wonât move, and itâs under her breasts, so that when she pushes forward
angrily they rub against his skin.
And she shivers, lemon-ice tingles, because sheâs not used to thinking
of him like that. Heâs funny, heâs sweet, heâs someone she crushed on -
so over that now - heâs not supposed to make her feel like Spike does.
“Thought I told you not to do this again. You stay away from him,
understand?”
She glances up at him, flirting just a little because itâs only fair he
feels as awkward as she just did. “Make me.”
He stares down at her and she realises he always will, because sheâs
all grown up now, isnât she? “Donât need to, Dawn.” He flips the stake,
end over end, catches it deftly, because itâs his stake, he carved it,
he balanced it for his hand. “Just need to remove the temptation.”
And as he walks towards where she left Spike sleeping, she wonders how
heâll remove her when the day comes, or if heâll just - finally - give
in.
Curious, she leans against a grave and calls his name and when he
turns, she saves Spike with a kiss, blown like a robinâs egg, and a
beckoning finger.
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