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Clean Throughby WesleysGirlRating: NC-17 Dawn/Spike Many thanks to Jane Davitt for the beta. 1st. "Oh God," Dawn groans, letting her arm dangle limply over the side of the bed. "Why did I ever think this was a good idea?" "Asked you that a few times, myself," Spike points out. He thinks that if she weren't feeling so poorly, she'd hit him for that. Instead, she just says, "You're supposed to tell me it's going to be worth it." She's taken to wearing her hair braided, but small strands of it escape all the time anyway. He tucks one back behind her ear. "It will be," he says comfortingly. "This part won't last forever." "Two more weeks," Dawn reminds him. That's what Wesley said, that most women's morning sickness stops after the first trimester is over. Strangely enough, she reports feeling fine in the mornings -- it's not until late afternoon that she starts getting pale and throwing up. Wesley insists this is all normal, and the books agree with him, but that doesn't make it any easier to see her sick and miserable. Even Spike's fascination with the very faint swell of her belly isn't much consolation. "You want me to have Wes make you some of that tea?" Spike offers. "Okay," Dawn says, sounding thoroughly miserable, and Spike kisses her hair and goes downstairs. "How is she?" Xander asks as he goes into the kitchen. Xander's sitting at the table. His hands are covered in grease and the table's covered in the metal parts of something broken that Xander's trying to fix. It's part of the tractor's transmission, Spike thinks. "Two times today," Spike tells him, referring to the number of times Dawn's been sick. "Wes around?" "He's doing laundry," Xander says. Laundry means the back porch, which lucky for Spike is covered and on the south side of the house, shaded from the sun. Spike pushes open the screen door, worn wooden planks creaking under his boots. "How is she?" Wesley asks. Spike snorts. "Wish I had a bottle of whisky for every time one of you asked me that." They've emptied every house and the one liquor store within a reasonable distance, and experimented a bit with making their own, but it's not the same. It's one of the few things he misses most about civilization. "So do I," Wesley says fervently. "Of course, then I'd have to ask even more often, just to make sure we had a good enough supply." Dropping down into one of the chair's that's pushed up against the wall of the house, Spike says, "Twice today. Which is better than yesterday at this time, but I still don't like it. I know, I know," he goes on before Wesley can say it, "It's 'perfectly normal.'" "She hasn't lost more than a few pounds," Wesley says. "She's not becoming dehydrated, she still has an appetite for at least part of the day. She's fine. I promise you, if I were worried, I wouldn't keep it from you." "I know," Spike says. He watches for a minute as Wesley scrubs a shirt across the washboard Dawn found out in the barn a few months back. It's not an easy job, one-handed the way Wesley is, but Wesley's an admirably stubborn bloke who's sorted out how to do pretty much everything someone with two hands could do and Spike knows better than to offer to help. Not that he wants to. "Think you could make some of that tea?" he asks instead. "The ginger?" Wesley smiles. "I set some out on the front porch in a glass jug. Sun tea. It ought to be ready about now -- just strain it through that mesh strainer." Spike looks at him pointedly and Wesley flushes. "Oh," he says, standing up and wiping his soapy, wet hand on his jeans. "Right. I'll just get it then, shall I?" "Thanks," Spike says. "Not as useful lifting heavy things and wrestling cattle when I'm a pile of dust." He takes the tea, strained and with a few grains of sugar added, up to Dawn. It doesn't look like she's moved at all since he left. "You awake?" he asks quietly, in case she's not. "Yes," she says. "I just wish I wasn't." "Brought your tea," he says, setting the cup on the side table and easing himself down onto the bed as carefully as he can so he doesn't jostle her. "Come on, pet. Roll over here." Dawn does, slowly, and comes to rest with her head pillowed on his thigh. "There should be something to fix this. A pill, or something." "There was, once," Spike says, remembering. "Didn't work out so well for the little ones, though." She whimpers and reaches for his hand, and he takes hers, laces their fingers together, strokes her hair with his other hand. "It'll be all right, love. Don't worry." "Easy for you to say," Dawn whispers, and Spike shakes his head and tries not to think about all the things that might go wrong; the chance that giving birth might be too much for Dawn, that it might kill her. Or that the baby won't survive, and that might kill her, too. He can't think about it. He has to concentrate on this, on the warmth of her against him, on the steady beat of her heart and, beneath it, if he really focuses, the fainter, faster one of the child growing inside her. 2nd. "God, hurry," Dawn says, frantically tugging at the front of Spike's jeans to unfasten them. He doesn't wear anything underneath them, at least, and that helps. He has both hands on her breasts. It feels good, but not good enough. She needs more, needs him in her, his hard cock sliding into her and relieving the ache. "Hurry." "Impatient girl," Spike says. Dawn doesn't care what he calls her, though, because he's turning her around and pushing her dress up, pulling her panties out of the way and finally, finally fucking her. She has to bite back a wail when he slides inside -- she's so wet it's almost embarrassing. Now that she's halfway through the pregnancy, being sick all the time has morphed into being desperate for sex all the time. Spike likes it even more than she does, she thinks as his hips push forward, driving his cock deep into her. God, it feels so good. She just wants more and more. "God," she whimpers. "Spike, please..." "Want me to touch you?" he whispers in her ear, voice a sexy growl that just makes her hotter. "Yes. Yes, yes." Dawn gives a little cry as his fingers find her clit, slick and swollen like it almost always is these days. He knows just how to touch her; she comes in minutes, feeling herself clench around Spike's cock with a relief that doesn't last long enough. She's still chasing a second orgasm, one hand clutching Spike's hip to pull him deeper into her, when he gasps. "Dawn, love -- can't wait --" Spike groans when he comes, pounding into her, and she's so close, so close, but she just can't get there. She spins around when he pulls out of her and kisses him hard, demanding more. Grinning, Spike says, "Still hungry? Here, let's take care of that." He lies her down on the bed and spreads her thighs wide, slides three fingers into her, and licks her clit. His tongue is perfect, so good. He doesn't fuck her with his fingers, just holds them there, pressing against her inner walls, and flicks his tongue faster and faster until she's shaking, crying, coming, so hard that for a few seconds she forgets how to breathe. After, with Spike lying next to her, dress still pulled up and tangled, she feels content. Spike rubs his hand lazily over her rounded belly, then laughs when the baby gives one of its little, fluttering kicks. "Got it all riled up. Sorry 'bout that." "This is the time of day it moves around the most," Dawn says. "Sometimes I think I can feel it doing somersaults." "Too bad. Not much chance of a career as a circus performer." Spike stretches and kisses her, then rests his head on her shoulder, hand splayed on her stomach. Like it can feel his touch, the baby stretches, too. Dawn smiles and sighs, overwhelmed with a sense of peace, with the feeling, deep down in her bones, that things are the way they're supposed to be. 3rd. "I changed my mind!" Dawn shrieks as the next contraction starts. She's soaked with sweat, quivering, clutching onto Spike as they walk the length of the porch. "Not much longer now," Spike says again. She stops walking when the pain gets to be too much and just holds onto him, face pressed to his chest as she moans. It's nearly midnight, Spike thinks, not that the time matters all that much. He's just glad the sun's down and he doesn't have to worry about it coming back up for hours yet. Inside the house, Xander and Wesley are getting the bed ready. Dawn insisted she didn't want to give birth in their bed, not wanting to chance ruining their mattress, so they're going to use the pull-out sofa bed in the living room. The contraction eases off and Dawn sobs into Spike's shirt. "There, pet," he soothes. "Remember what Wes said? That once it gets really bad, that means you're close." He prays Wesley's right about that. "I don't care! I can't do this!" She's running out of energy now; doesn't have enough to be angry. She's just scared. "You don't have to do it alone," Spike tells her. "I'm here." He looks up at Wesley, who's in the doorway suddenly. "We're all here with you." Another contraction, even harder this time. Dawn screams and a sudden rush of liquid runs down her bare legs. Spike can smell blood in it, but not a lot -- it's mostly amniotic fluid. Wesley's there, providing reassurance. "All right, good, that's good. Good girl. Let's get you inside and lying down, all right?" "I can't," Dawn says. "Of course you can; look at all you've done already. You're nearly there." Wesley's voice is soothing; Spike is grateful to let someone else take over. "No, I mean, I really can't," Dawn says, sounding panicked. "I think it's -- I think it's coming." "Not yet, certainly," Wesley says, but Dawn's eyes are so wide it makes Spike thinks she might be right. He slips a hand under her short dress -- she's bare underneath -- to check, and feels his own eyes go just as wide. "Baby's in a bit of a rush," he says to Wesley. Wesley shouts for Xander to bring some towels, and tells Spike to get her down on the porch as another contraction starts. "I can't, I can't move, it's --" Dawn says. "Get them down here," Wesley says to Xander, and, to Spike, "Support her shoulders." "Oh my God, is she --" Xander says. "Yes, any minute now." Wesley is terse. Dawn screams again, her belly tight as stone, and Wesley says, "Xander, you'll have to catch it." Xander gives him a horrified look. "Catch what?" "The baby," Wesley says. "All right, Dawn, time to push." "What do you mean, catch the baby?" Xander is pale. "Spike's supposed to do that!" "Yes, well, he's rather busy at the moment," Wesley snaps. "And I've only got one hand, so that leaves you. Now, Xander." Dawn shudders and arches again, fingers digging into Spike's arms. "Spike --" "Right here, pet. We've got you," Spike says, and she screams and Wesley says something encouraging and Xander swears, and then suddenly there's a new sound, a high-pitched, gurgling cry, and Spike looks up to see Xander clutching a squirming, slime-covered infant to his chest. "Is it okay?" Dawn gasps, trying to sit up. Spike doesn't know if he should help her or keep her still, and Wesley's too busy rubbing the baby with a flannel -- which just makes it cry more -- to give him advice. "Xander?" "It's fine," Xander says. "I mean -- it is, right?" he asks Wesley. Wesley nods. "Pinking up nicely, good strong cry." Xander wets his lips and blinks. He looks, Spike thinks, a bit dazed. "It's a boy." "That's the umbilical cord," Wesley says gently, and Xander blinks some more. "Oh. Right." Clearing his throat, Xander says, "Um, a girl. It's a girl." "Can -- can I hold her?" Dawn asks. "Yes, of course," Wesley says. "Let's just cut the cord first; it's a bit short. Xander, can you -- yes, like that -- Dawn, was there someone in particular you wanted to...?" "Me," Dawn says. "I'll do it." And, while they watch, she cuts the umbilical cord with a trembling hand, setting the squirming, wailing fifth member of their family free. After. Some time later, Dawn is propped up in bed with her daughter in her arms and a smile on her face that just won't quit. She's really, really tired, and incredibly sore, and she doesn't think she's ever been so happy. "I can't believe she's really here." "She's beautiful," Wesley says. He sits at the foot of the bed. "Just like her mother." Spike looks as proud as if he's the biological father, which of course wasn't possible no matter how much Dawn would have loved it. The baby wriggles and opens her eyes, looking up at Dawn like she knows her. "Hi," Dawn says. "Hi, baby." But the baby yawns and goes back to sleep, which is pretty much what Dawn would like to be doing right then. "Does anyone else want to hold her?" "I'll take her," Spike says, and does. "Settled on a name yet, Bit?" It was the one thing Dawn refused to talk about while she was pregnant -- baby names. Somehow, she'd gotten it into her head that it would be bad luck to name the baby before it was born, so she'd done her best not to think about possibilities even right up until the end. Now, though... she thinks for a minute, and it comes to her like a flash. "Joy. You know, for my mom." Xander nods and says, his voice gruff, "Yeah. She would have liked that." "It suits her." Spike touches Joy's little tufts of dark hair gently. "You should have something to eat," Wesley tells Dawn. "Is there anything you'd like?" She's too tired to eat, but she agrees to some fruit salad, and Wesley and Xander go downstairs to make it, leaving her and Spike alone with Joy for the first time. "Lie down with me?" she asks him, and he does, on top of the covers, putting the baby between them. She's all wrapped up in a little blanket, and she's wearing a little hat, and she's just so cute. It doesn't matter that nothing's pink, because, to Dawn, Joy is very obviously a girl. She has long, long eyelashes, and her tiny fingers are slender and delicate. "She's so perfect." "She is," Spike agrees. "Luckiest girl in the world, having you for a mum." Spike always knows the right thing to say; it brings tears to Dawn's eyes. "No," she sniffles, touching Spike's face with her fingertips. "That would be me. I'm the luckiest girl." Joy snuffles and coughs, whimpers in her sleep -- Dawn rests a hand on the baby and she quiets. Looking down at Joy -- at her daughter -- Dawn is overwhelmed with love and gratitude. "You happy, pet?" Spike asks, and she thinks the expression on her face should be all the answer he needs. End.
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