I like Spike/Dawn romance where she is the aggressor. I did my best with that. It went in a completely surprising direction, so I hope you still like it.
The butterflies appeared in Dawn's belly when Spike and Angel showed up at her door in Rome. They threatened to lift her up into the air and set her adrift on the balmy Italian breeze, and they had nothing to do with the dark-haired elder vampire.
"Stay," she'd said, putting her hand on the dark wood of the doorframe, when they were leaving.
"Can't," he said, with a glance at Angel, who politely looked away. "But I'll come back."
The next time he was in Rome, they went to a restaurant and Spike said he was sorry and Dawn said she forgave him and then she kissed him over a glass of vintage chianti. Spike pulled away, mouth opening to ask a question, but the look in Dawn's eyes, like blue fire, stopped him. Of course she was sure. And she leaned forward again.
Dawn comforts a drunken Spike (any season). I'm rusty, but here's what I've got.
Her footsteps crunched over dead leaves, tiny shards of glass and what may have been small animal bones. Dawn looked at the glass and was reminded of a fairy story where a girl had to rescue a boy whose heart carried a sliver of ice from a beautiful queen of snow and cold.
It didn't snow in Sunnydale, not really, but Dawn still thought she could relate.
The crypt smelled like something sharp and spicy, vaguely bitter. Dawn wrinkled her nose. Rum, whiskey... bourbon? Did it matter what the vampire's poison of choice was? She scuffed her foot against the floor.
A groan from the bed sent her wandering in that direction, where she found Spike, sprawled on his back against the mussed sheets. He lifted his head, squinted at her and collapsed again, making a noise that was between a moan and a laugh.
She knelt on the bed, then tumbled forward to fall into the space between his outflung arm and his body. Propping herself up on her elbows, she lifted a half-empty bottle of a dark amber liquid from his hand, sniffed it, grimaced and took a sip. Then she tucked her head into the curve of his shoulder and rested her small hand over his still heart, imagining the warmth from her skin seeping into his blood and melting that cold shard of ice.
Show me what it's like; To dream in black and white. Lyric from Unknown Soldier by Breaking Benjamin. Not quite what the song intended, but the conversation that popped into my head had to be written.
He found her perched on the back steps, a cigarette glowing red between her fingertips. He smelled her before he saw that it was her, all smoke and spice and something childish, like clean laundry and vanilla shampoo.
"Your sis's throwin' a fit," he said, lowering himself down next to her. She just looked at him, eyes as wide and luminous as the moon that illuminated them. "Y'know what time it is?"
"Three after midnight," she said, her voice hoarse. He didn't know what to say to that, so he took out his pack and lit his cigarette off of hers. She leaned her head on his shoulder.
"Do you dream?" she asked. He could feel the delicate bones of her cheek moving against his arm. She exhaled smoke into his jacket.
"In color? Or in black and white, like film noir?"
He glanced down at her, surprised. "Don'know. Reckon I never noticed."
"I dream in color," she said, her voice wistful. "Like California. But I wish I dreamt in black and white, you know, like old Hollywood." She gestured aimlessly in the air, her cigarette trailing a thin curl of smoke behind, but he understood what she was trying to say.
dawn and spike renew their friendship post both series and then become lovers. Simple enough. ;)
It was raining when Dawn landed in London. Spike met her just outside of Heathrow, holding a giant black umbrella over her head. She felt uncomfortable next to him - too much had passed, he'd died, come back, almost died again, almost became human - and the distance between them seemed to her like a chasm that they had to shout over. Send smoke signals. In the cab ride to the Watchers' Headquarters, he was quiet, but she, always the perceptive one, felt an aura around him, a cloud of feeling that was different from anything he'd ever felt like. She reached out, touched his arm. He looked up in surprise.
She looked at him, and wanted to say something like, it's okay, or, I forgive you, but there was no need for those words anymore. She knew, and she could tell from the shift of emotions across his fine-boned face, that he did too.
It was a week later that she crept into his room and perched lightly on the edge of his bed. With forgiveness came wistfulness about lost time, then friendship as they recounted their missing years to each other in smoky pubs, then her old yearning, uncurling in her chest like a rusty dragon, long out of use and all the more eager for it. She balled the comforter in her fists. Spike stirred, raised himself on one elbow. His hair was tousled and dark. Dawn bit her lip.
He held out his arm.
My lovely rachel2205, yours is soon to come.
Hope you guys enjoyed.