And the other half:
“Stop wriggling,” Spike growled. She just giggled some more, and tried to kick him. “I’ll bit you,” he threatened. It didn’t do any good.
“Silly daddy. Mummy would stake you.” He knew there was a reason he’d argued against telling Joise all about mummy and daddy and vampires and slayers. Buffy had insisted, despite the fact that it seemed to lead naturally into home schooling both the children. Sometimes he wondered if that was a ‘because’ rather than a ‘despite’.
“I could just take a little nip. Just enough to keep you quiet for a while.” He wouldn’t, they both knew that, but he was suddenly aware that due to the non-human statuses of both him and Buffy, Joise was probably in the ‘demon’ group that his chip would let him bite. “But I won’t, so long as you go to bed quietly.”
“What if I don’t?”
“No story.” An infinitely better threat, and one that worked.
“Put me down,” Joise whined. “I’ll get ready for story time.” He set her down carefully at the top of the stairs, and watched her rush into the bathroom, pulling clothes off along the way. Not wanting to fight with her, he picked up the discarded items as he made his way towards Bam’s room—and stopped there, wondering when he’d become so domesticated. ‘Not wanting to fight’? That wasn’t Spike.
Slightly disgusted with himself but still actually disinclined to argue, he threw the clothes in the direction of the laundry basket and peered round the door at his son. The boy was asleep, lying on his back in the cot, left thumb in his mouth. Spike was obscurely proud that his son was left-handed, same as him.
Connor wasn’t a bit like his father, after all.
The floorboard outside complained, and Spike looked out to see his daughter there. “Story!” she hissed, aware that she really would be punished if she woke her younger brother.
“Yes, pet,” Spike said, closing the door softly behind him. “What do you want to hear tonight? Peter Rabbit? Winnie the Pooh?” Buffy read her modern books, American books, but she liked to hear him read the old favourites, perhaps because she detected that he liked the British ones better. Or maybe it was just because Giles had brought them.
“No! Special Daddy story!”
He wasn’t sure whether he welcomed or dreaded those moments. From Dawn, he used to love it: the demands for tales from his past, a chance to brag. And who would refuse to do something he loved? On the other hand, turning down the violence and gore and trying not to mention Drusilla was a strain.
Joise slid into bed, and he tucked the sheets up to her chin. She closed her eyes, and he took a moment to look down at her, soft hair all over the pillow and gently smiling lips.
“Once,” he started. Then he realised that the girl was fast asleep—no point telling the tale now. He grinned briefly, and trudged back downstairs to tidy up the Lego. He did, however, spend a little time rebuilding Joise’s tower so she wouldn’t be upset again in the morning.
Well, Buffy, Spike thought, you really have made me a house-trained vampire, haven’t you.
End.
~*~*~
Please, someone, kill me before I write any more Sappy!Spike. The existance of HK phone sex does not make this any more excusable.