by itsacraze

Four hands, twenty fingers, and they're all on her at once, and she's unable to tell who's who. Dawn is pretty sure that the blindfold and the soft scratching of nails on her skin should be freaking her out right now, but really, it's not. Two pairs of lips, one on her eyelids, one trailing much too slowly down her abdomen, and still, no freaking out. Girly-soft skin against her back, long-fingered hands with perfect red-painted nails spread over her thighs, long dark hair tickling her belly. And now that she's pretty sure she's not freaking out any time soon, and one tongue is licking a trail up her thigh, Dawn tells her brain to fuck off and leave her alone.

Two sets of fingernails dig into her arms, two velvety-rough tongues brush over her skin. Vampire fangs tickle when they aren't killing you, and the ridged skin brushing Dawn's cheek isn't creepy at all. The hands have moved from her thighs and are holding down her wrists now, and even though she's not struggling, the feeling of being pinned down...

The radio is on, and she's not entirely sure Mandy Moore is the appropriate soundtrack for this particular moment, but hey, is she really going to get up to change the station? Someone's tongue is doing wonderful things, but Dawn can't see, of course. Silk against her eyelids, almost as soft as the hair against her cheek, against her thighs.

Somewhere far in the back of her mind, Dawn thinks how very dead she'll be if Buffy walks in. Then again, Buffy isn't off work for another two hours, and Dawn would bet money that she'll actually be dead by then. As one pair of lips closes over one way-oversensitized nipple, fangs pricking the soft skin of her breast just enough to draw blood that is quickly licked away, and another brings her to climax, Dawn really doesn't mind dying this way.

"We should keep her, mummy."

"Anything you want, Dru."

Fangs prick her neck but Dawn only feels it slightly through the haze she's floating down from. Something warm and coppery-sweet is in her mouth and she swallows hungrily. Twenty fingers touch her, and two pairs of blood-flavored lips meet over her body. She really doesn't mind dying this way at all.


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