Byron yawned and stretched as he came awake in the middle of the day. Normally, Jenny would have pulled him bodily from his bed hours before, and they’d be exploring some museum together, but she had gone to visit some Gypsy elders or something, and the eight-year-old was adjusting to his parents’ more conservative sleep-all-day-roam-all-night schedule. On any other morning, he would just roll over and go back to sleep, but in the stillness of the day, he heard something from the hallway.

Curious, and not really wanting to stay in bed, the boy rolled out from under his covers and shuffled into the hall clad in his pajamas. The sound came from his parents’ room--a low growl and a rustle of sheets. Having not been told any anecdotes concerning cats during his short and primarily nocturnal life, Byron stalked down the hall and slowly, stealthily, turned the knob.

As he slipped into the room, he narrowed his eyes at the sight of his mother’s naked back. She was sitting high on the bed, straddling another body, and long-fingered hands gripped her waist. His father, Byron decided, wondering what his parents were doing. Under the boy’s curious gaze, the two vampires moved slowly, almost rocking against each other. They were whispering to each other, their conversation interspersed with growls from his father and gasps from his mother.

His interest peaking, Byron sidled closer, moving as quietly as possible to avoid detection. He was struck suddenly, as he edged around to see them from the side, by how absorbed they were in each other. His father pulled his mother closer, clutching her slight body against his own, and fused his mouth to her neck. Byron was surprised to see his father in game face, and frowned as blood began to drip down his father’s cheek. His father was...feeding...?

Byron’s eyes widened as his mother pulled free and whimpered, but his father growled and rolled, pinning the smaller vampire below him. The sheets tangled around their lower bodies, but his parents seemed oblivious. His father’s occasional growls had fused into a continuous snarl as he...what was he doing? Byron’s mother was...fighting? She thrashed underneath her mate helplessly, and then her body arched and Byron’s father cut off her cries with his mouth.

Unable to take it anymore, Byron sucked in a trembling breath and sobbed, “You’re hurting her.” At the sound of his son’s voice, Spike tore away from Buffy, staring at Byron with feral yellow eyes. Deftly, he pulled his mate closer and allowed her to bury her face in his shoulder.

“Get. Out.” Byron shivered at the anger in his father’s words, but struggled to pull himself together and stand against his sire.

“You’re hurting her, Dad”, the boy insisted, tears running down his face in twin rivers. “I won’t--I can’t let you hurt her...” The boy clenched his fists under his father’s disbelieving eyes and the innocent hazel eyes hardened. “Leave her alone, Dad.” Tense silence stretched between father and son, broken only when the Slayer pushed lightly against Spike’s shoulder, no longer shaking.

Spike growled as Buffy moved underneath him, barely restraining himself from simply finishing what he’d started. His mate’s cool hand ran soothingly along his back, and she turned her head to regard her son levelly. “Byron, go back to bed.”

“But, Mom...”, the boy shook his head in denial, but his mother’s gaze was steady, her expression implacable.

“Please, baby. Daddy’s not going to hurt me. Back to bed.” Spike nuzzled her throat, growling once more, and Buffy sighed, relaxing in his embrace. “Now, Byron.”

The child sniffled, unsure of whether he should obey, and then turned and ran. The door slammed shut behind him, and silence reigned for a moment.

Buffy lay still in the quiet, wondering why Spike remained so still. After several seconds, she looked up at him, studying his taut expression anxiously. “Spike?”

His eyes flew open and the Master vampire roared, his claws piercing the flesh of her back and hips as easily as his fangs did her neck. She drew in an unneeded breath at the shock of pain, and then there was only the storm...

“You have to give him the talk”, Buffy repeated firmly. “You’re his father. It’s your job.”

“You still haven’t told me which bloody talk, Slayer”, Spike grumbled, licking gently at the wounds on her throat. Buffy sighed contentedly and nipped his ear playfully.

“The sex talk”, she elaborated. “Tell him about the birds and the bees.”

“What about ‘em”, he mumbled questioningly. Buffy rolled her eyes and refused to answer, biting him just harder than necessary. She purred like a kitten as she lapped at the welling blood.

Spike groaned against her skin, pulling away long enough to ask in a whine, “Now?”

“Well...”, the Slayer considered briefly and conceded, “Maybe later....”

“Much, much later”, Spike agreed, rolling over her again.

"Okay, boy", Spike growled, sliding a tape into the VCR. "Yer Mum tells me you need to get the talk. This tape should explain it. Now, the signs in the store say you shouldn't be exposed to this till you're eighteen, but since you've already seen me and the Slayer playing, I figure it's all the same. Feel free to ask questions." Sulkily, Spike dropped onto the couch next to his son and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. Byron watched as the tape began, silently absorbing the lesson.

About fifteen minutes into the program, Byron frowned thoughtfully and said, "Dad, this is a porn movie."

"Very true", Spike replied, watching the action with thinly veiled interest. "Not one of the better ones, I must say. I take it you've seen the like before?"

"The minions watch this stuff real early in the morning. They always kick me out." Byron and Spike watched the screen in companionable silence for several moments. "That girl looks a lot like Mommy."

Spike's eyes nearly popped from his skull as he took a good look at the woman. "Bloody Hell. I wonder if your Mum would be up for that." Byron looked faintly disturbed, but said nothing.

David walked in stirring something in a mixing bowl, and cocked an eyebrow at the night's entertainment. "Interesting viewing material."

"Yes", Byron answered, his wide eyes fixed on the cavorting nymphomaniacs on the screen.

"Quite", Spike added, one hand twitching on the remote.

"That young lady looks a lot like..."

"Yes."

"Look at 'er go..."

Glancing at the shell-shocked eight-year-old sitting on the couch, David cleared his throat and asked, "Um, Lord Spike? Don't you think that maybe Byron is a little...young...to be watching this?"

"His mother's idea. Kid walked in on us. Bloody nuisance."

"Yes", Byron agreed. David nodded and locked his gaze on the screen.

"Um, that looks painful."

"Yes."

"Bloody Hell..."

Buffy looked back and forth between Spike and Byron as they sat beside each other on the couch. The TV screen in front of them had been blank for the entire ten minutes that Buffy had been in the room, but neither male seemed inclined to move. Spike watched the blue screen with a cocky grin plastered on, while Byron sat with a completely shell-shocked glaze in his wide eyes.

Just as the former Slayer was about to say something, David walked in and saw her. To her amazement, the usually unflappable minion squeaked and flew out of the room as soon as he entered...but not before giving her a once-over that she would have slapped him for had he been within arm’s reach.

Disturbed by the strange behavior of the males in the household, Buffy walked to the set and grabbed the empty movie rental box, quickly scanning the title. With a frown, she flipped the box over and read the title, puzzling as she realized that she’d never heard of ‘Traffic Cop 4’. Popping the tape out of the VCR, she scanned the label, eyes widening as she realized what ‘Adult Productions’ meant.

Murderous rage bubbled quickly to the surface, and Buffy turned immediately to the source.

Spike came out of the pleasant haze of his daydream to find the object of his desires clutching him by the lapels of his coat. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, he took in her murderous expression and ventured, “Pet? Is something wrong?”

An inferno of fury rose up in her eyes, and if looks could kill, his death would have been long and tortuous. In measured, menacing bites, the Slayer growled out, “What have you done to my son?”

Spike looked over at the lad, who was turning his head with glacial slowness to see his parents. A rush of memory tumbled through his mind, and he suddenly became aware of a few matters that needed attending to. His hands came up to fasten around Buffy’s waist, and he hauled his mate into his arms roughly, crushing her mouth beneath his own and tugging her shirt from her pants. Sanity licked at the corners of his mind as the Slayer stiffened, and he wrenched his mouth from hers long enough to turn to the boy and snarl, “Go!”

This time, Byron listened.