Author: Mosh
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Title: Best Blood
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: R
Summary: He pushes her buttons like nobody else.
Disclaimer: These characters are property of Joss Whedon. No money being made, no copyright or trademark infringement intended.
A/N: With thanks to Magic at Mungos for the beta read. This was written for my dearest Supes, because she is awesome. 760 words. :)

Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks!

"It's just a simple bloody question, pet. No need to get your knickers in a twist." Spike folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the front door frame. Although he smelled strongly of cigarettes, the sour tang of whiskey, and the irony undercurrent of blood still fresh from his latest kill, it no longer bothered Buffy. "Well?" he added.

"That's none of your business," said Buffy, glaring at him hard. She wanted him gone, wasn't in the mood tonight.

He smirked infuriatingly, showing no intention of leaving until he got what he was after. "He did, didn't he?" he said incredulously. "Well, well..." Pushing himself away from the door frame, Spike crossed the threshold, making a point of it. His smile was wicked. He strode up to her and leaned in close, until their mouths were almost touching, but not quite. "So you could say Angel's had all of you, then."

She was not going to punch him, even though her fists automatically clenched. That was what he wanted.

"Lucky Angel," Spike went on, running one black-polished fingernail up Buffy's arm, over her shoulder, around her neck to where there was still a very faint scar in the shape of Angel's mouth. Damnit.

Although he was still smirking, some of the fire had left Spike's eyes.

Buffy pushed him backwards with one hand. "There are some things you really don't want to know, Spike, even if you think you do."

"How much did he take? When did he-" Spike asked anyway, then stopped. His jaw visibly tightened.

He already knew - Angel had taken as much of Buffy's blood as had been necessary. She shouldn't have to say it out loud and wouldn't have anyway. It was too far back in the past, and it had nothing to do with Spike or their... relationship, if it could be called that. In any case, Angel had needed her blood. Spike just wanted it because he couldn't have it.

"Just drop it," said Buffy.

He was angry now, she could sense it. Spike seemed to thrum with energy that was both dark and electrifying. It made her skin prickle under her clothes, it built in the small gap between them. She gave him a warning look.

"What, you're too good for me now, is that it?" Spike reached for her, his hands large and firm around her waist, pinching. In one effortless move, he pulled her hard against him. "I'm all right for a bit of rough and tumble, but when it comes to something meaningful..."

She didn't stop him when he kissed her, with a bruising intensity, nor when he slipped his tongue into her mouth and fucked it slowly, in a mock of making love. She didn't pull back when he flicked her hair over her shoulder, out of the way, nor when he kissed down over her cheek, nipped her earlobe, then ran his tongue slowly down the curve of her throat.

He wouldn't dare... it's Spike, he knows I'd kill him if he... oh, God...

She heard his teeth click together - he was teasing her, snapping at her flesh - felt his lips cool on her flushed neck. Forcefully not arching against him, she tipped her head back ever-so slightly and wished she could've not.

With an obscene thrust of his hips, she felt his erection, insistent and ready. As he clamped his mouth on her neck she wanted it so badly she thought she'd break something, push him onto the couch and fuck him there, with Dawn upstairs in her room and the door still gaping open.

But before she knew it, Spike stopped.

He let go of her, stepped back, silent and still.

Buffy's senses returned like a punch to the gut and she glared at him, breathing fast. "What're you-?" she began.

"Sorry, love," said Spike, running his fingers through his white-blond hair. His voice wavered slightly. "I like a bit of fight in my blood, if you get my meaning. Adds to the taste and all that." And with that, he turned, then strode out the door.

Buffy stared for a long time, half-tempted to go after him and show him fight (and show him a fair bit of blood, too, actually). Instead, she walked to the door, shut it firmly, turned and leaned back against the wood.

She would not feel weak, she was not the weak one here. He'd be back in all his spiteful, childish... really, really annoying glory.

She'd make him wait until he came back, like he always did.

~Fin~