Compass Rose

Continuing my odd Spike/Greg pairing. I can't seem to stop this thing. :D And I don't own CSI or Buffy. Obviously. Cause if I did... this would be done.

"I am not going to eat that."

Spike stood in front of the tv, one hand on his hip, the other brandishing a large, clear Tupperware, full of a very familiar, dark red liquid, which splashed and frothed against the sides as he wriggled it. "I don't expect you to eat it, luv, I expect you to drink it."

Greg shook his head fiercely. He was hunkered down on the sofa, head set firmly between his shoulders, shoulders nearly on the seats as he slouched as much as he was humanely able. He looked like a mess – dark circles under his eyes, wearing dirty clothes, dirt under his gnawed-to-the-nub fingernails. He also didn't look like he planned on leaving that couch anytime soon.

"Pet, it ain't healthy-like, only feeding from me." He kicked Greg's leg. "Also, it's irritating."

"I won't eat people," Greg insisted.

"Then you sure as hell got into the wrong species." Spike rolled his eyes. "Sides, if that's the problem... this ain't human anyway. S'cow. Kosher, even."

Greg looked up, hopefully. It was obvious from the look on his face that he was desperate for it, but was trying to hold himself back. "Really? Cow?"

"Good old fashioned Bessie," Spike cracked the top off of the Tupperware, holding it closer. The smell of freshly spilt blood filled the entire living room, making Greg moan despite himself, facial features shifting as he sat up.

"Smells good, don't it?" Spike smirked.

Greg shook his head, a vehement 'no', but his growling stomach betrayed him. "Is it clean?"

"You're dead, pet." Spike reminded him. "It doesn't matter if it's not clean."

"Right. Divine health." He crept slightly closer, licking his lips.

"Infernal."

"Whatever. You're sure it's not human?"

"Yes. Butcher said so."

"Butchers can lie... known them to, to shove people into meat grinders... it could be human..."

Spike groaned. "What, you wanna DNA test it?"

Greg hesitated, yellow eyes looking up at Spike hopefully.

"No. Now eat. We need to get you off your solid diet of me so you can go back to work." Spike dipped a finger in the blood, glistening drops dropping off his finger as he lifted it to his mouth, and sucked his finger clean. He had to stifle a look of disgust at the cold, non-human blood, but it had done the trick.

Greg bolted to his feet, grabbing the Tupperware and lifted it to his mouth, gulping down the cold bovine blood. It spilled over his mouth, coating his chin and sliding down his neck, soaking the front of his shirt.

"Hey! Not so messy! Can't pretend to be human when you look like a murder victim!"

Greg ignored him in favour of tipping the tub all the way back, licking at the inside to get as much of it as he could. He was moaning softly as he did, licking his lips sloppily.

"Pet, you look like a crime scene. And you're dripping on the floor."

"Naw." Greg's face shifted back to normal as he wiped his bloody mouth on his sleeve. "It's obvious I'm not a victim. The concentration of blood around my mouth is too much for it to have bled out of me, since the human mouth, even when encouraged, can only bleed up to about 15 of the human's total blood before their own tongue blocks the way totally. It would be obvious that I drank it. But I suppose, if they investigated, they could conclude I was forced... no ligature, though. Mmmm."

"Great. Blood loosens your tongue back up." Spike sighed, flopping bonelessly onto the couch. "Thought we'd gotten rid of those talkies."

Greg curled up beside him, resting his head on his sire's shoulder. "This isn't talkies. I'm not forced to talk, or anything. This is just me. Dead me."

"Great..." Spike groaned. "What was I thinking?"

Greg considered the other for a moment, then offered his arm.

"Hungry?"