Unfortunately, the almighty Joss Whedon owns more of my story and its characters than I do...that is to say, the entire cast of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel.

The woman yawned against his chest, fingertips sliding from his shoulder to his hip as she pushed herself up into a half-upright position, tipping her golden head to the side as she tested the muscles of her neck. She was warm against his side, her hip pressing into his with tender familiarity as she shifted and pulled a worn cotton comforter up over her breasts, simultaneously swinging her legs off the side of the bed. Sunlight played over the ivory skin of her back, its brilliant glow partially obscuring her lovely features...

"You're staring," she said, voice thick with amusement. She turned to face him a little, folding one leg back onto the mattress as he fumbled for an apology.

"'m sorry," he replied. "I din't--"

"I liked it," she laughed. "Why do you always apologize for staring, William?"

"W-William?"

She rolled her eyes and moved until she was straddling his thighs, keeping the thin white sheets between them. It was cold in the room, and though it didn't bother him, he noticed that her skin was quickly losing its innate warmth and whatever comfort the quilt provided. Spike moved to wrap his arms around her and cover her with the thick blanket again, but she cut him off, wrapping a hand around his erection and squeezing fondly. She then leaned in and pressed her lips against his belly, the fingers of her left hand splaying over his side. A moment later she smiled teasingly and kissed her way along his abdomen, over his chest, until she was stretched out over him, her breath soft against his lips and chin.

"History lesson," she said. She lifted one of his hands off the mattress and placed it against the side of her throat; confused, Spike swept back the hair that had fallen over her shoulder, exposing a too-pale scar on the smooth skin. Angel.

"Yeah, I know 'bout it." He pulled his hand away, angered by the fact that she had brought his grandsire into the room. His irritation seemed to startle her, but she continued anyway, pressing the tips of her fingers against the place where Drusilla's fangs had immortalized him.

"Who gave this to you?" she asked searchingly. "Do you remember?"

"'f course. Dru."

"No," Her voice was firm, the voice of a schoolteacher reprimanding a naughty child. "No, Spike, that's not true."

"'f course it's true! I was bloody there!"

She smiled softly and placed her lips against the nigh-invisible mark on his neck, waiting there a moment before unexpectedly sinking her blunt teeth into the sensitive flesh. He was instantly hard enough to cut glass, his vision skewed for the space of a human heartbeat as pleasure coursed through his veins. It was only the sound of her laughter that drew him back to their bed, where she gently licked the place where she'd bitten and wrapped her slender body around him.

"Not Drusilla," she whispered. "You're mine, William."

And Spike felt his demon scream with delight as he slipped his fangs into her pale throat, testing what he already felt in his heart to be true. Little hands grasped at his shoulders, hot breath swirled in his ear as he tasted the spicy blood of his Slayer, holding her as close as physics would allow for several heartbeats. Only when he felt her trembling in his arms did he pull away, running his tongue over the bite to prevent further bleeding.

"Mine." he said, savoring the word on his lips.

"Yours," Buffy replied.

Spike groaned as Tara wrapped one of Joyce's winter scarves around his wrist, winding the other end around the bedpost with trembling fingers and looking anxiously towards the bedroom door. Dawn was hovering in the black gap, clothing and hair dripping rainwater onto the carpet as she watched them tie down the trembling vampire, blue eyes wide with a sort of stunned horror. He groaned again, fingers curling into fists, testing the strength of his bonds as Buffy stripped off his duster, his blood-soaked shirt. Dawn whimpered and lurched into the room, cold little fingers running over the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

The Wiccan took a few steps forward and slipped her palm under Dawn's fingers, closing her hand over them in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. She'd never been one for motherly displays of affection; that had always been someone else. Like Joyce.

"Will, we need Giles here yesterday," the Slayer said sharply. "He's gonna wake up in a few minutes, and I can't hold him down all by myself."

"I'll help!" Dawn cried. "Spike won't hurt me!"

"No, Dawnie. He's not going to be Spike when he wakes up. He's going to be William the Bloody."

"C'mon. We can't stay here." Tara pulled Dawn towards the doorway, silently reaching out and touching Willow's thoughts. I'm taking Dawn to our room. If you need anything...

I'll let you know.

************************************************

Giles walked quickly into the bedroom, noting the frayed fabric of the scarves that held Spike against the mattress and the pajama-clad Slayer straddling his narrow hips. She looked exhausted, sweat dripping from her forehead as she swiftly pressed her hands against the vampire's chest, pressing him into the sheets as his demon emerged with a startling series of crunches.

"Hey!" Buffy shouted. "Bad Spike!"

Her Watcher crouched at the bedside, examining the ripped mess of the little vampire's belly with an educated eye. He'd seen a few wounds like this in his lifetime, primarily in the years when his friends had called him Ripper and he'd enjoyed summoning random hell-monsters. Usually the victim had been someone foolish enough to piss off a demon they had no idea how to control... but very few demons had enough venom in their bite to keep wounds open, especially on a vampire some years past his centennial. And even fewer of those demons currently called Sunnydale home.

"He's been bitten by a Gora demon," Giles announced.

"Great. And what does that mean, exactly?"

"It means I have to cut all this--" And he gestured towards the torn, blackening flesh that made up forty percent of Spike's abdomen. "--away, and we'll need to feed him human blood."

"Sounds easy enough." She lifted one hand and swiped at her face with a bloody t-shirt. "Start cutting."

He went into the hallway, where Joyce, Willow, Xander and Anya were standing around his bag, looking at him with inquisitive eyes. Joyce looked less concerned than all the others, considering that her daughter was currently sitting on a murderous, Slayer-killing demon, but he wasn't quite sure he could correctly measure her expressions anymore. She wasn't the woman she used to be; age had caught up with her long before it should have. Xander bent over and picked up Giles' bag, holding it out to him and asking,

"Is she okay in there?"

"Buffy's doing remarkably well," Giles replied, unable to keep a note of pride out of his voice. "But Spike is not."

"But he will be, right?" Anya asked. "He'll be 'well' soon?"

He glanced between her, Xander and Willow and gave them the most honest answer he could (knowing at least Xander didn't care anyway).

"Maybe."

"Please tell me you're not dropping Spike-meat onto my floor," Buffy whispered.

"Of course not." Her Watcher looked up at her worriedly. "Shouldn't you be--"

"Holding him down? Nah." She was currently sprawled across her bed, her lower body caught between Spike's legs, her upper body half-resting on his torso. It wasn't the best position for her to be in defense-wise, but the past hour or two had pretty much tired both of them out, and she was certain that he wouldn't immediately wake up and decide to eat her. Besides, he was very soft and nice to cuddle with now, and he kept saying really sweet things in his sleep.

"Hey, wanna hear him compliment me some more?" Buffy teased. "'Cause I can stand some ego-boosting."

"Please, no."

The vampire shifted uncomfortably, his thin face tight with pain as Giles' surgical scissors snapped shut for the umpteenth time that hour.

"I think you're hurting him," she said quietly.

"There's no way for this to not hurt, Buffy." Her Watcher's voice matched hers for softness, neither of them willing to draw Spike back into consciousness. She sighed and started humming a song about little girls her mom had used to make her go to sleep, mildly pleased when Spike's breathing evened out.

"Y'know, I think he's a mama's boy."

"Do tell." Giles said drily.

"He likes it when I sing to him, he's obviously a cuddler." She sat up, a smile stretching her face, and said, "And he really likes it when I play with his hair."

Her Watcher paused and fixed her with a decidedly Giles-like glare, the expression on his face switching between embarrassed and irritated.

"It's bad enough we have to see him like this in the first place. Don't play with him while he's sleeping."

"Buffy..." Spike murmured, tossing his head to the side. He was silent for a moment, full lower lip trembling as he dreamed...then his entire body tensed, his feet digging into the mattress and the muscles in his arms tightening under his ashen skin. Buffy immediately grasped his shoulders and forced him down, heart crumbling as he roared in pain.

"What did you do?" Buffy shouted.

"Nothing, I--"

Spike suddenly lurched up, the scarves around his wrists tearing as his hands fell to Buffy's waist, pulling her against him as he sank his fangs into her throat.

Sorry for the delay between updates!

-DP