Authors Notes: If only this chapter were funnier…and longer…

I'm in a bad mood and I've been isolating myself. So on with Angel and Little Spike's adventures of fluffy goodness fun. Enjoy!

Little Bad

Chapter Four – Snuggling

Spike didn't know how to act. All of his instincts were rooting him on to behave just like the four-year-old he had become, but his mind was screaming in protest at the degradation. He was the Big Bad after all, but he couldn't even fit into his leather duster anymore. It was the size of three of him.

Most of all, he was confused about that Peaches and Cream sire of his. If afraid, his first impulse was to run to Angel. If sad, run to Angel. If angry, scream at Angel. If in need of affection, snuggle with Angel.

His mind went insane when it came to the snuggling. He abhorred the very word: SNUGGLE!

And he knew that a few times, the words "Da" or "Daddy" had slipped from his juvenile mouth while addressing Angel. In those instances, he had bit the inside of his mouth as hard as he could because what was more bloody embarrassing than addressing the biggest soddin' poof ever as "Daddy"?

But in those few instances, his sire's warm brown eyes had always brightened and a brief smile would flutter across his lips. Peaches loved to be needed, and Spike was well aware of this.

Spike did not love needing Peaches.

"Da?"

Mentally cursing himself, the miniature vampire tugged relentlessly on his sire's pant leg and was annoyed to no end when Angel responded by absently ruffling his hair. Angel was sitting at his desk, reading a newspaper and every so often picking up a warm mug of pig's blood.

"Hungry!" Spike demanded, stamping his foot.

Angel gave his childe the briefest of glances before lifting the boy onto his lap and turning his attention back to current events.

Spike sighed and tugged on Angel's shirt.

"I need me blood," he pouted, jabbing his poof of a sire in the ribs.

"What do you say?" Angel attempted.

"NOW."

Spike was becoming very irritated, very fast.

"William…" Angel trailed off warningly. Spike growled. Angel always called him William when he was treading the line. He could either go down two roads at this point: succumb to his sire's will at the great loss of his dignity and the gain of blood; or he could throw a major tantrum, get his blood, and get hauled off to the corner for that ridiculously humiliating punishment known as a "time-out".

Spike didn't much fancy a time-out. They were long and boring and he hated staring at that blank corner because it was pointless and it didn't change anything. He was still the Big Bad and he was even a bigger Big Bad when he was in a time-out because he knew what would happen but he was bad anyway. Or so his four-year-old mentality told him.

"I'm waiting," Angel prodded softly, prying Little Spike away from his thoughts. Spike noted that the older vampire had enveloped his tiny torso with his left arm in a light embrace. He found this comforting. He liked snuggli-

NO. He definitely did not like this snuggle business.

Bloody snuggle-fests…

"Please?" he asked, picturing his larger self raising and shaking a tight pale fist at him. So much for being the Big Bad.

Angel squeezed him closer for a moment before handing him the half-full mug of blood. He smiled as he watched Spike greedily gulp the remaining contents and lovingly wiped the little boy's mouth clean of the blood left behind.

After a few minutes of just sitting there, mini-Spike let out a powerful yawn and rested his head against his sire's chest, fighting the urge to fall asleep.

"Someone need a nap?" Angel whispered after planting a small kiss on the top of his childe's head.

"No," Spike whispered back. "When're you going to cure me?"

"Whenever we find a cure," Angel replied. "You know we're trying."

The Ex-Watcher and bloody Sing Along Songs were trying, Spike knew. Angel was just sitting there, enjoying being needed by his less than self-sufficient childe while reading the newspaper for other cases to distract him from figuring out how to reverse the effects of Borna blood ingestion.

Spike unsuccessfully attempted to stifle another yawn.

"Nap?" Angel suggested again.

Spike shook his head, grasping the fabric of Angel's shirt. "Sleep here."

So maybe it was partially his fault that Poof to the Max insisted on coddling him. So what? Sod off.

TBC…possibly with direction of the plot-variety? We'll see!