Had she any idea of the effect she had on him? How damn near impossible it was to simply hold her within the circle of his arms, the scent of her a combination of sweet almost childlike innocence and yet, the most alluring, spicy aroma of power he'd ever come in to contact with since the Slayer? And the very thing she asked of him, it was almost enough to drive him entirely over the edge. Her arms circling his neck, his hands firmly on her thighs. Closing his eyes, he struggled to regain some self control; self control that had slipped, near crumbled entirely when he had pulled her face to his for that kiss. Buffy's face swam in his mind; green eyes dark, disappointed. Betrayed. He could only damn himself for being unable to resist.

"Bite me," she had whispered, her voice trembling, although the conviction behind her words was more than audible. The mere thought caused Spike to shiver; his mouth salivating. Their gaze met directly, evenly, and she did not look away from him as his mind struggled to wrap around the command —invitation? Her very existence, proximity, was devastatingly intoxicating and the heavy beat of her heart only aided in persuading the demon of which he fought with inwardly.

"Dawn," he growled, almost helplessly before his hands, as if on their own accord, slid up her back to press her ever nearer to him, and fingers lacing through her hair, he guided her head further to the side. Lips drawing back, he pressed his mouth to her soft throat and felt his features change. The transition was as smooth and quick as his fangs as they sank down into her skin. The blood flowed freely into his mouth, and he could have dropped to his knees from the sheer ecstasy of it had he not been holding on to her. She in turn let out an alluring moan before yielding entirely to him, and the submission was both arousing as well as satisfying to the demon that raged inside.

Spike drank deeply of her before he managed to tear himself away, and even then the separation was enough to cause an immense feeling of remorse. Not for what he had done, but for the loss of the connection, the warmth of her body against his and her blood as it coursed from the jugular. Dawn sagged slightly, and holding firmly to her shoulders, Spike closed his eyes and forced himself to regain his composure. When he opened his eyes, Dawn was looking at him through partially closed lids, her face pale but expression one only the swoon of feeding could elicit. He was tempted to return to the wound on her throat, everything about her from posture to the way she clung to his forearms all but inviting him back, but by some semblance of a small miracle he managed to keep himself in check.

"Dawn," he said softly, and when she did not acknowledge she had been spoken too, he gave her a quick, curt shake and spoke her name more firmly. "Dawn."

The dazed expression seemed to clear from her eyes, and a more familiar countenance slowly took over her features. She glanced around the kitchen, before her lips parted and she lifted a hand to her neck. He scowled as he surveyed the damage; her shirt was definitely garbage-worthy, and then there was still the issue of her arm that needed tending. The bite mark on her neck was most certainly not a convenient contribution in relation to the mess of her arm, and once the haze from the feed had worn off, Spike's mind switched gears in to over drive.

He would not allow himself a moment to think about the ramifications of what had just taken place, and easing the shaky girl off of the counter and back on to her feet, he glanced at the clock above the stove before cursing mildly.

"Come on then," he said as softly as he could, taking her uninjured arm and leading her towards the stairs. "I'm going to take care of the mess in the kitchen," he explained in reference to the plates, "but I'll get to that once we've got you cleaned up. C'mon now, this way."

Dawn followed complacently up the stairs and to the bathroom, where he left her to retrieve some form of shirt that would cover up the damage in the mean-time. A baggy sweater hanging on the back of Dawn's door would suffice for now, and he helped her wash the blood off of her arm and clean the cut before bandaging it. She sat almost listlessly on the toilet as he leaned forward to examine her neck, and he grimaced inwardly. It hadn't been a messy bite, but it was far deeper than Spike would have ever intended to deliver –as if he had ever intended to do this—and still bleeding. Pressing some gauze to the side of her throat, he instructed her to staunch the blood flow while he dug through the first-aid kit.

"Is it always like that?" she asked quietly, the sound of running water from the tap the only other noise to be heard on the second floor.

"Always like what?" Spike asked, hoping the dismissive tone of his voice could deter her from continuing with her line of questions. Unfortunately for him, it did nothing to sway her curiosity, and she turned to look at him with clear eyes. He could feel her gaze on him and he slyly avoided meeting it by continuing to root uselessly through the small compilation of band aids and medical tape.

"Does it always feel so..intense?"

Spike's hands stayed over the mess of toiletries, and he grew very still. Mulling it over quickly in his mind, he toyed with a proper way to word what he was going to say next. Truth be told, in all of his years, and even with the Slayer under his fang, he could not deny that the experiences shed a pale light to what had taken place between them in the kitchen. He couldn't discern what he was feeling, and so he opted for an easier route to take than the truth. "I'd imagine so," he began, holding fast to the dismissive tone he had used earlier, "I mean...it's a hell of a lot easier to enjoy it if it's mutual." Looking up, he flashed her what he had hoped to be a mischievous grin, "It's not usually like that, though."

Dawn's expression caused his own to sober immediately, and she continued to press the gauze to her neck while looking at the other hand which was toying idly with a frayed piece of denim on her jeans. Was it disappointment? He couldn't be sure. "Oh." was her only response.

"Right then, let's have a look."

He set the first-aid kit alongside the tubs surround, and kneeling down, gently eased her hand away from her neck. Already, a dark bruise was beginning to form around the bite marks however the bleeding had stopped and he cleaned it fastidiously before motioning to the sweater he'd snatched from her room.

"Change in to that, I'm going to bring the shirt out with the trash once I've finished cleaning up the kitchen, alright?"

Dawn took the sweater, and she held it between her hands in silence, staring down at the fabric as if it were completely foreign to her. Spike couldn't help but hesitate near the door; he could sense that she wanted to say something. Part of him wanted to run; the other part remained rooted, mesmerized by the sound of her soft intake of breath.

"Will you kiss me again?" she asked, and he blanched at the question, his mind utterly unprepared for it and in no way able to conceive of an appropriate response. Stupidly, he uttered, "What?" before clearing his throat. He now truly had no idea where she was taking this with him, and he was already going to be in a load of shite if not more, at the mercy of the red headed witch and her girlfriend for what had taken place tonight. Why not burn him on the cross as well? Just to be thorough.

Dawn's brow furrowed, and another moment of silence crept in to two before she lifted her head. "I want you to kiss me again," she exclaimed. Her cheeks were flush despite the loss of blood, and all the more adding to her allure. Christ, was she aware of the effect she had on him?

Dawn's heart hammered in her chest. Maybe she wasn't thinking straight; in fact, she knew she wasn't. Head light from the loss of blood, and throat still burning from his supernatural kiss, all she knew was that a doorway had been opened between them, and inexorably she suddenly craved his nearness in a way that she hadn't before. It was impropriety at it's finest, but she could not help the words that left her mouth anymore than she could stop herself from unsteadily getting to her feet and taking a step towards where he lingered uncertainly by the door.

"I don't know what you want to happen Bit," Spike began as she took another step towards him. It excited her in some sick way that his eyes fell to her mouth, and she knew without a doubt that he was hesitating because the thought to acquiesce to her request was more tempting than it should be. "But I've done enough harm here than need be already, I don't want to make things worse than they've already become."

"Worse?" Dawn asked, the bitterness in her voice surprising even herself. She stopped her approach, and fiddled with the sweater in her hands. Dropping her gaze, she stared down at her trembling fingers before continuing unsteadily as Buffy's empty stare swam before her in her mind, "You're the only person that's made any of this better."

"Oh platelet," Spike bit out, sounding truly distressed. Wringing his hands from his sides, he let out a frustrated growl before stepping closer to her and pressing his palms to her cheeks, turning her face upwards towards him. "You've no idea what this is doing to me."

"I do though," Dawn whispered, eyes large and lips unsteady. "Because you're doing it to me."

He kissed her then, his hands firm on either side of her face, and she returned the kiss as best she was able. The sweater slithered to the floor between them as it deepened, and Spike claimed her lips with a desperation Dawn felt deep down inside of her core. Wrapping her arms carefully around his neck, Spike's hands slid down with certainty now as opposed to hesitation, fingers spanning out over the gentle slope of her hips to pull her flush against him.

He pulled away after a moment to her disappointment, and pressing his forehead to hers, she savored the feel of his breath along her lips as he tried to compose himself. She could feel the effect it was having on him through the hardness in his jeans pressing gently, but insistently against her belly. His grip on her sides was firm, but she could sense something in him that was better left alone and she knew already that they had crossed more than dangerous lines tonight.

"I'm sorry." she whispered, a wave of apprehension suddenly consuming her. She withdrew from him shakily, and knelt down quickly to retrieve the fallen garment of clothing. Spots danced in front of her eyes, and she fell to her backside, groping for the cabinet by the sink to steady herself. "I'm sorry," she whispered again. Spike knelt so that their gazes could meet and they watched one another in silence for a long moment, before he helped her lift her arms and remove her shirt. Goosebumps spread out along her skin, and she burned in an entirely new way as she let him drink in the sight of her exposed flesh. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to the unharmed side of her neck, and she froze as he trailed kisses down to her shoulder, his cool lips pausing along the strap of her bra, before he held the sweater up for her. It slipped over top effortlessly, and as it settled he pulled her gently to her feet.

"I'm going to clean up the mess downstairs," he said unevenly, before leaving her to stand alone in the bathroom.

Turning on her heels, she stared at herself in the mirror; pale and waxen, eyes huge and reflective underneath the harsh fluorescent light. Where did this leave them? The apprehension returned, and biting her lip, she closed the first-aid kit and set it away, before turning off the light and making her way down the hall to her bedroom. She could hear the clatter of fallen dishes below, and collapsing on to her bed, she curled in to a small ball and stared from the darkness into the hallway, where the light cast an eerie illumination about the doorframe. She was tired now that she had laid down. From crying, but also from what had taken place between them.

Once the adrenaline was gone, and all that was left were more questions than when she started, Dawn pressed her face in to her pillow and couldn't help the one that rang over and over again inside of her head, What have I done?