Spike curls his fingers into fists and tucks them into his pockets. Looks at Connor and decides that taking a beating suits him. Pretty lips pounded to fullness and a trace of stubble adds to the dishevelled image and Spike suddenly feels like roughing him up a little more. Connor lies there like a pile of leaves the vampire aches to wade through, regardless of the mess it would leave. He’s young, true, a little younger then when William was turned. There’s knowingness behind those scowling eyes, a suffering and determination not to be ground down. A far cry from that dead nancy-boy poet who still thought his cock was for stirring his tea. Spike examines the broad forehead and wonders what Grandpa would make of the unkempt hair. It would be a tender scene indeed – the sharing of hair gel.

“Tell me, why I shouldn’t kill you.” Connor’s voice is hoarse, as if he’s just woken up and realised where he is.

“Now that’s rich!” Spike snorts. “I’ve just saved your bleedin’ life, that’s why.” He swivels on his heel.

“You’re not like those other…” when Junior searches for the right word, Spike comes to the rescue for the second time that evening.

“Girls?” the vampire offers, settling easily against the car. He crosses his ankles and looks up at the sky. It’s stopped raining. “Nice weather we’re ‘aving.”

“You know – you’re just a bum. You look like a freak and…” Connor sits up and explores the damage to his face with cautious finger tips.

“Not very, no.” Spike feels a catch in his throat when he sees the bloodied hand, and the scent reminds him who he is, who ‘they’ are. He pushes away the instinct beaten into him that bade him drop to his knees before Angelus. He covers up his feelings and shakes his dignity awake by rearranging his coat over an alert cock. Just the scent of his grandsire was enough. “Why? Want to take me to dinner, do you?” His sarcasm is ignored. “You getting up or what?”

Connor makes a show of the lack of effort, but Spike can tell – he can sense the pain.

Why would a vampire take any interest in a human’s pleasure or pain? It had crossed his mind to stake him but…’something’ had made him hesitate. Connor drags one boot in front of the other, wondering at the strangeness of his life. He wants to talk, ask questions and at the same time wants to run away from what he might find out. Connor pauses momentarily when he hears Spike behind him. The vampire is silhouetted against the street lights, his coat tails fanning as he hops to catch up.

And that smell again now he’s closer– the scent of bleeding stems invades Connor’s nostrils suddenly like frosty air. Still isn’t sure it’s coming from the vampire so Connor inhales again deeply, aware of the need to be quiet. He knows to keep his guard up around the vamp. He holds the scent in his gut for a while…Jesus…needs to check so the human lifts his own wrist close to his mouth, touches a bruised lip, draws a short breath just to be sure…yes, it’s himself. He can smell himself. Questions…

And this feeling was all too familiar. The lick of flames in his belly. Angelus’s brat shaking him off and here he was prancing after him like a good childe…

“You asked if I was hungry. S’pose I could eat. There’s a nice Chinky a couple of blocks that way.” Spike tries to sound friendly, but his voice is loud in the deserted streets.

The human’s eyebrows almost meet. Spike has learned to live with people not understanding a lot of what he’s saying. Most of the time he enjoys it. Good fun irritating Grandpa and his human pets that way.

“Chinese food. You must like Chinese food.” The kid’s obviously a half-wit. Nothing to do with him being English at all. The Irish - ever humourless and literal.

That’s stopped him in his tracks. Wide eyes, shadow-sculpted cheek bones, long slender neck twisting to try and read Spike’s expression. But Spike was never very good at intrigue. He could have spun this out, but he fancied a bite to eat. Well, he fancied a bite but since he wasn’t going to get one of those in the foreseeable future, ribs would have to do. He loved ribs, not much meat, lots of canine action.

“You heard me right. ‘Dad’. “Spike slips into Big Bad mode. It’s easy, never forgets his lines or where to stand. He leans close, nose to nose, enough to detect a hint of Angelus in the young man’s scent, enough to stir up ancient desire and resentment. “Do you think you got that from him? That strength. Think about it!” He grabs a wet sleeve. “Your ‘Dad’ know how to fight like that? “

“Why are you following me? Why did you save me from that vamp tonight?” But he isn’t giving Spike time to answer; he’s too busy pounding the vampire’s face, every punch accompanied by a grunt and a sneer. “Fuck off! Keep away from me!” Spike just soaks it up, waits for him to stop as if he knows that Connor’s curiosity, his need to know, will prevent a dusting. Spike’s landed against a railing and the human’s breathing heavily, teeth bared. “Fight back, you pervert!”

This seems to hit the vampire harder than any fist. Spike appears to grow a foot taller as he lifts Connor by the shoulders and slams him against the nearest wall.

“Little shit!” He’s in game face now, deadly teeth scouring the surface of the human’s jaw, the sensation arousing Connor much to his horror. “I oughtta…”

Yellow eyes so close, drawing him in. Connor gulps, waits. Spike’s knee is between his thighs preventing escape, undead hands gripping his shoulders. No breath, just the low growl of the predator vibrating between their entwined bodies. And the human senses the hesitation, the taut leash that was somehow holding this demon.

The vampire blinks, releases Connor’s shoulders and laughs. Laughs like a teenage boy who’s just heard a dirty story.

And he’s gone in a dash of leather and tobacco, leaving Connor a shaking mess on the sidewalk.