Title: Peace Offerings

Pairing: Dawn/Spike

Summary: Poor Spike and his coat

Rating: PG-13 for sexual implications

A/N: A late 15minuteficlet for LJ using the word Redeem. The idea for this came from a drabble in redwolfe’s LJ with Dawn begging Spike to let her borrow his “duster” and him setting her straight that it was a coat not a duster. In her version Spike never gave Dawn an answer in my ficlet he let her borrow it and regrets it, for a little while.

 

 

 

Bloody bint, went and let her borrow my bloody coat and what did she do? She went and got nail polish on it! Bloody cotton candy pink with glitter in it! Sure it was just a smudge but what the soddin hell was she doing painting her nails wearing my bloody coat? I light another fag from the butt of the old one and pace the room blowing smoke rings. Then the bloody chit takes off in my coat crying her heart out. Probably gonna get tears all over it, takes for bloody ever to get the smell of salt out of leather.

 

            I growl and toss the cigarette to the crypt floor and grind it out with the heel of my boot. I fumble in the chest of drawers for my extra pack of fags.

 

            “Oh bloody Hell,” I curse and pull the empty package out. I glance at the covered window. I know without looking that it’s still bloody hours until nightfall. I’d send the Niblet but she’s still off having her crying jag.

 

            I curse again and throw open the makeshift cabinets. No soddin Johnny Red either. I thought we had a bleedin’ half a bottle. A grin spreads over my face. I remember exactly what happened to the Johnny Red, in very intimate detail. It involved lickin it off the Niblet.

 

            She bitched for three days ‘bout it took four washings to get the smell of whiskey out of the bed sheets. Bloody Hell, she probably won’t ever let me do that again and it was a roarin good time.

 

            I’m lying on the bed so bloody deep in thought about the various uses of Johnny Red I don’t even hear her ‘til she slams open the door to the lower level of the crypt. She stands at the top of the steps wrapped in my coat, the leather one with the pink nail polish and the tears on it.

 

            She gets this sexy little grin on her face, the one she has when she’s ‘bout to be really wicked. I cock an eyebrow at her and prop myself up on one elbow. She very slowly unwraps the coat. Oh bleedin Jesus Mary and Joseph. All she’s got on is a pair of them panties that’s just made for rippin off, a pack of Marlboro Reds tucked under the string crossed over her hip. She’s holding a full bottle of Johnny Red in one hand.

 

            I sit there and sputter for a moment, finally she gives up on me forming any actual words.

 

            “I thought I needed to redeem myself” she says.