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Title: "Until My Dying Breath" -- Chapter Seven
Warnings: Vampire AU with all the unpleasantness that entails. Dubious consent, violence, pain, bloodplay, blood drinking, sexualized violence, grotesque descriptions, dark setting, fear, minor past character death, intense dark emotions, brief contemplation of suicide in a previous chapter. Warnings on a chapter by chapter basis.
Length: 14,000-ish for this chapter
Story Summary: On his way home from campus to his apartment on the Upper East Side, Blaine Anderson happens to come across a beautiful young man with bewitching blue eyes. It doesn’t take long, though, for everything Blaine thought was real to fall to pieces. For his world to dissolve into a twisted dance of fear and heat and blood.
Notes: So originally, this was supposed to be the first scene of about five or so planned for Chapter Eight. And then... yeahhh, it became pretty clear once I started writing that it needed its own chapter. This story just gets longer and longer! Just so that you know, the chapter division between parts one and two is entirely arbitrary because of LJ word limits: this chapter is one long scene, so it's best to just read through. One more thing: you know how I always say 'vampire AU with all the unpleasantness that entails'? Read the warnings this chapter.
For those interested, my tumblr is here. I tend to post updates there about how chapters are progressing. :3
When Blaine regains consciousness, it happens in bits and pieces.
Little details filtering through the thick layer of disorientation, slipping into his awareness like water through cracks. The sensation of something soft and sturdy underneath his back. The fact that his head is rolled sideways onto something, lolling against it whenever he twitches or shifts.
The sound of music playing quietly in the background.
At first, he hears it as though his ears are full of cotton wool – but after a few minutes, the fuzzy, distorted melody begins to clarify itself.
It is the music that wakes him up, in the end. His mind chases after the elusive sound of it like a white rabbit, internally frowning in concentration as he attempts to piece the broken rhythms and instrument tones into a pattern that makes sense. Eyes still closed but awareness beginning to breach sleep, Blaine furrows his brows as he follows the music back to wakefulness. It takes a few minutes, but eventually the song clarifies itself: old-fashioned instrumentals, crackly and slightly warbled. A slow, calm tune that reminds him inexplicably of black and white films. He shifts, turning his face further into the soft fabric rising and falling beneath his cheek.
“Good morning, pretty.”
The shape he’s tucked up against rumbles slightly against him as the words fill the air. It’s a familiar voice; high and teasing, with a hint of affection nudging at the edges. At once, Blaine’s whole body tenses. His eyes fly open – but the sudden brightness of the world beyond his eyelids makes him wince shut them again quickly. Something pulls him in closer, holding him more securely as he squeezes his eyes shut and coils up into himself. Into the shape of someone’s body, holding him close.
Now that he’s awake, Blaine becomes immediately aware of two things. First, there is the pain. Throbbing and pulsing behind his eyes like a physical presence that he could reach out and touch if he wanted. It aches and strains, and he lets out an inadvertent noise of discomfort as he tenses up again. Now that he’s aware of it, he has no idea how he managed to ignore it: the ache of it feels like something he could reach out and touch, run his fingers over.
Second of all, there come the memories of what happened. Of where he must be, and with whom.
Something cold and empty floods Blaine’s stomach.
Cautiously, he opens his eyes, keeping them narrow against the abrasive light. There isn’t too much he can see from this angle, but now that he’s aware of it... the shape that he’s curled into is unmistakably Kurt’s chest. Clothed, still wearing the dark button-up shirt, and for a bright white second Blaine isn’t sure whether or not he’s wearing clothes before he registers the sensation of his jeans and the soft fabric of his t-shirt rubbing against the sheets. They’re the same clothes they were wearing when he invited Kurt into his apartment, and –
And the set of emotions that clench and twist in his stomach at the reminder of everything that’s happened come and go too quickly to properly identify them. Dulled fear, and disorientation, and something hot and quick and constrictive that coils along his spine like a shiver.
The two of them are unmistakably lying in a bed together, sheets and duvet half on top of their fully-clothed bodies. Kurt is propped up a bit higher than he is, leaning-almost-sitting against a small pile of cushions. One arm is wrapped around Blaine’s shoulders, holding him snug so that Blaine’s head rests against his lean chest. Abruptly, Blaine becomes aware of a gentle pressure along his scalp; it takes him a few seconds to realize that it’s Kurt’s other hand, stroking through his hair idly. Sometimes tangling his fingers through the curls, other times rubbing in little circles along his scalp. The position would almost be sweet, like the snug embrace of a lover – except for the fact that Blaine has been unconscious for god knows how long.
“I can tell you’re awake,” murmurs Kurt, his high voice dancing on the air despite the softness of his tone. It mingles with the old-fashioned music around them, Kurt’s chest rising and falling very slowly as his fingers card through Blaine’s hair. “No need to pretend.”
“... I wasn’t,” Blaine denies quietly, wincing when the croaked words make the pounding in his head briefly increase. Trying to tell himself to remain calm – it’s over, it’s done, he remembers that now; there isn’t any point in running – he takes in a few slow, deep breaths that make the pain of it recede a little.
Focusing on his breathing makes him suddenly aware of the soft, elusive smell all around him; woven into the sheets, in the air, radiating off the body next to his and wrapped around Blaine’s senses like a blanket. It’s the smell of Kurt: all around him in a way he’s never experienced before, so close and right there, not a corner-of-his-mind memory. The entirety of that night so long ago – the night with the park bench, and the kiss that seared its way into his brain – is all washed out with the terror and horror and fear, so much fear, that came later. If he did get a chance to take note of Kurt’s smell, Blaine doesn’t remember it. It’s... hairspray, and fabric softener, and something quietly masculine beneath it all that might be cologne or might just be Kurt.
By all rights, Blaine should be terrified. The man – the monster, he tells himself, the monster – who has spent almost two months stalking him, tormenting him, murdering people to get to him finally has him trapped. Has him tangled so tightly in threats and promises that there’s no way he can even think of trying to run. God, Blaine should be terrified if only because Kurt has him in a bed; held him to his chest while he was helpless and knocked out for god knows how long.
Kurt is so close, like this. Where there used to be at least the fragile solidity of the door between them, now there is a whole body wrapped around him instead. The quiet physicality of it is overwhelming, after all the distance. Kurt can do anything to him here. Could snap his fingers one by one, or starve him, or tie him up and leave him in the same room for weeks and there would be nothing he could do. Blaine should be crying. Should be frantic, and hysterical, and begging for whatever he can get.
But it’s too late for any of that now. After such a long time of teasing and playing, Kurt has finally wrung Blaine out; has finally snapped the few threads that were keeping him together. And it’s not as though he’s any more helpless unconscious than he is wide awake.
So instead of panicked, all Blaine feels is surreal. Disoriented, and dazedly bewildered by the fact that he can still feel at all: that he’s still alive, despite everything. Still human.
That apparently, Kurt has more in store for him than simply turning him as soon as possible.
The fingers are still moving through his hair. Calmly, deliberately, and it’s almost a claim all by itself. I can do this to you. I can choose to give you affection.
“Why did you hit me?” Blaine asks after a long pause, wincing again as the pain throbs quietly harder for a moment. It isn’t as bad as it was when he woke up, though, and that’s something. He still feels slightly fuzzy, it’s true, but Blaine is not actively afraid of being chastised for asking. Kurt had said before that he wasn’t hiding anything from him, and Blaine believes those words more than ever now.
It isn’t that he’s safe here, with Kurt holding him to his chest like some kind of living doll. It’s that Blaine is so very, very far away from safe that it doesn’t matter anymore.
He gave himself over. Done now. No more.
“Mmm,” Kurt hums quietly, and Blaine has heard that noise before. A detached, noncommittal little acknowledgment, except... except there’s something underneath all that right now. Something low and intense that makes Kurt tighten his arm around Blaine’s shoulders reflexively. Kurt scoffs, and it comes out forced. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to try something stupid,” he declares, all in a rush, before tightening his grip ever-so-slightly more. “I was... done. With chasing you.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Blaine states dully, shrugging his shoulders as much as he can in his current position. He stares over at the dark cream of the wall; he doesn’t know where his glasses are, and even though his vision isn’t bad enough to render him anywhere near completely blind, the room isn’t as clear as he would like. One more thing among a million that puts him at the disadvantage.
Kurt’s fingers are still carding gently through his curls. “I... I can’t fight, anymore,” says Blaine slowly, and it’s true. True in a bone-deep, exhausted way that goes far beyond whatever leverage Kurt might have over him. Blaine is... done. He simply doesn’t have it in him to keep struggling.
With his head still cradled on Kurt’s chest, Blaine can actually feel Kurt shiver at his declaration. It’s all so personal, like this. Being held close. He can feel every tiny moment, every shudder, every breath.
After a few frozen moments, Kurt begins to shift around him. Unwrapping and disentangling himself from Blaine’s body in a deliberately slow and gentle manner. Shifting his deceptively delicate-looking body out from under him, reaching over to position Blaine so that he’s lying sideways on the bed. Facing Kurt, now, with his sore head cushioned against the pillows. Then, in a careful way that almost reminds Blaine of a cat positioning itself down to go to sleep, Kurt lowers himself back down onto his side so that they’re lying on the bed facing each other. Their faces only a few inches apart, the two of them can look each other in the eyes like this.
And Blaine can finally make out the room around them.
Kurt’s bedroom – it has to be Kurt’s bedroom, it smells like him, it feels like him – is lit with soft lamplight, just like Blaine always dreamed it would be. But other than that, the space doesn’t quite fit the image he’s always had for it in his head. The windows are entirely blacked out with some kind of dark film or covering, with heavy brown curtains pulled back on either side. It gives the space a sense of stillness, of ever-evening; there’s no way for Blaine to tell what time it actually is. The room is also slightly more bare than Blaine had been expecting: handsome shelves with only a few strategically placed books accentuated with large ornamental chess pieces in bright accents of red. On the bed, the two of them are surrounded by a pile of brown and white sheets and blankets.
But all of that is distant and incidental around them compared to Kurt, lying on his side and staring at Blaine with heavily lidded eyes. Pale and defined and beautiful, Kurt looks strangely content as he trails his eyes over Blaine’s face. But that isn’t what catches Blaine’s attention; isn’t what makes his breath hitch in his throat. Instead, it is the reverence in Kurt’s eyes that makes Blaine want to squirm beneath his gaze. That makes his skin feel too tight and his fingers twitchy; makes him want to look away from that captivating, too-intense stare.
After a moment, the gentle touch of Kurt’s cool fingertips reaches up and brushes along the side of Blaine’s face. His fingertips are cool but soft, so soft as they drift along Blaine’s cheek.
“I didn’t hit you that hard,” says Kurt quietly, still holding Blaine’s gaze with such concentration that it’s starting to make him feel uncomfortable. The fact that he almost seems apologetic is enough to make Blaine’s head spin. There’s a small, private smile on his face that is so very different from the jeering, elastic grin from Blaine’s nightmares. Quiet, and close, and every time he blinks his eyelashes splay across his pale cheeks for the briefest of moments that each stand out like soft-focus snapshots in Blaine’s mind. His eyebrows, expressive and sculpted, furrow gently together. “I just wanted to get you on the ground; check to see if you’d decided to play the hero and... I don’t know, lay traps or something. But you went down like a rock.”
“Oh,” says Blaine blankly, the fingers still stroking idly up and down the side of his face.
For the first time, he wonders if Kurt has any intention of hurting him at all.
Despite his sleep in the middle of the day, Blaine had still felt utterly drained when Kurt finally arrived at his door. Finding Amita (don’t think about it), the panic attack, his call to his parents (don’t think about that don’t think don’t think don’t think) – all of it had driven him to the very edge of composure. The past weeks have been utterly destructive, and Blaine has been sleep-deprived and terrified out of his mind for so long. Add being convinced that he was about to be turned right away only to have that one bit of certainty ripped out from under him, and it isn’t too surprising that it didn’t take much knock him out – perhaps more from exhaustion and emotion than the actual impact of the hit.
“Does your head hurt?” Kurt asks, his fingers flitting lightly up to graze over his forehead, his brow line. The touch is so fleeting, it almost tickles. The throbbing behind his eyes has started to fade, though. Ebbing back into something manageable as they lie on the bed together.
“A bit,” Blaine admits, everything still surreal and strange around him.
And to his utter surprise, Kurt leans in close – and presses a soft kiss to his forehead.
“You don’t have to worry,” Kurt murmurs comfortingly against his forehead, lips grazing over the skin and sending little electric shocks of apprehension and heat down Blaine’s spine. His breath is becoming slightly laboured, voice full of intimate conviction. Seeming almost drunk on the sight and smell of Blaine in front of him. “Soon enough, a little bump on the head won’t be a problem anymore.” His hand slides down along the side of Blaine’s face, his jaw, down to the curve of his neck. Fingers stroking into his main pulse point with slightly too much dragging pressure.
Despite the fact that he had given himself up so willingly in the end, Blaine had never really thought ahead to the specifics of what surrendering himself to Kurt would entail. Vague notions of blood and pain and being played with, yes. But before, he had always assumed it would end with his death; that he would be one of a long lifetime’s worth of kills for Kurt. The information that Kurt wants him forever is so new and so utterly incomprehensible that he hasn’t managed to get his head around it yet.
Blinking hard and chest constricting, Blaine glances back up to see a heady, almost intoxicated look on the other man’s smooth features. Kurt licks his lips, eyes lingering at the spot where Blaine’s jaw meets his neckline. On his fingers pressed along Blaine’s pulse, the muscles of his neck. His pupils dilate and he sucks in a breath when Blaine swallows, his eyes following the movement of it. There are small spots of colour rising in the paleness of his cheeks, and he is visibly holding himself back from doing something.
“You don’t have to hold back with me anymore, sweetheart,” Kurt whispers intently, dragging his nails lightly over the sensitive skin, running his eyes over Blaine’s neck greedily. Drinking him all in. “Everything’s good now. Back to the way things were supposed to go.”
He grins, and all at once the world is twisting as Kurt moves lightning-quick, grabbing Blaine by the waist and yanking him over so quickly the Blaine can’t even register the movement. It’s too fast to process, and suddenly he’s lying right on top of Kurt with the other man looking up at him hungrily.
“Finally have you all to myself,” Kurt continues, almost smug as Blaine is still attempting to get his bearings. He’s firmly in Kurt’s grip, all of his weight pressing down on the body beneath him in a way that would probably be uncomfortable if it wasn’t for Kurt’s strength. Blue eyes flick down to Blaine’s lips briefly before coming up to hold his gaze again, and Blaine can feel a thumb rubbing little circles into his waist through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Their faces are close together like this; close enough to touch. “It was fun chasing you, beautiful thing, but having you...” His face is so close, now, that Blaine can feel the tickle of his breath. Slowly, Kurt brings up his free hand to rest along Blaine’s neck again, his fingers stroking deliberately over the skin. He inhales deeply, lets out a little shuddery breath of air that Blaine can feel against his lips, and smiles. “Having you is much better.”
When Kurt leans up and presses his mouth against Blaine’s, closing the few inches between them and bringing them that much closer, he is expecting it.
What is surprising, however, is how very easy it is for Blaine to let his eyes flutter closed, relax into the touch, and tentatively, tentatively, kiss back.
It’s like falling into a dream; as though one of the haunting, terrible visions of the two of them as nothing more than two ordinary people in love have come to life in glorious technicolour. Kurt’s body is lithe and solid beneath him, arching up appreciatively into the kiss once Blaine starts to respond. One of his hands stays on Blaine’s waist, the other stroking over his neck as though he’s something precious as their mouths press together, achingly familiar and so very new all at once. He lets out a high, satisfied noise right before he opens Blaine’s mouth with his own, sliding their tongues together sweet and soft and indulgent. A tiny shiver of pleasure twists along Blaine’s spine, and it’s the first time since he’s woken up that he’s felt anything other than empty and confused and resigned.
This feels right, like puzzle pieces fitting together. The smell of Kurt all around him and the gentle, scraping touch of his short nails dragging over Blaine’s throat as their mouths move and spools of heat begin to coil in his stomach. It’s easy, and instinctive, and Blaine is almost able to forget the full implications of who Kurt is. To fall back into the easy fantasy of who he used to think Kurt was; who he wanted Kurt to be so desperately.
It’s indulgent, almost sweet, and Blaine’s fingertips are starting to tingle as Kurt gently coaxes him past any hesitation he might have had. Soon enough, their mouths are moving together as though they were designed for each other; every tiny movement of Kurt’s lips against his making something warm and pleasant grow inside. A small, unintentional noise escapes from Blaine’s throat, and Kurt purrs in response against his mouth, his hand flaring on Blaine’s waist and pulling him closer. It’s easy to relax into this: to feel good, and be made to feel good, and not have to think about anything.
Until the pain of a bite jolts him back to himself.
It doesn’t hurt very much: it’s only Kurt worrying his lower lip between his teeth in what is clearly supposed to be a sensual way. But the sting of pain, as fleeting as it is, makes everything slam right back into sharp focus: the things Kurt has done, and threatened to do.
What Kurt intends to do with him.
All at once, Blaine becomes tremendously aware of the longing, attentive way Kurt’s fingers are stroking along his neck. Lingering on pulse points, nails scraping over the curve, thumb brushing carefully over his Adam’s apple. Against his will Blaine’s whole body stiffens and tenses, becoming rigid on top of him.
After only a moment of non-responsiveness, Kurt pulls away. A frown is stealing over his shining lips, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. His hands, however, stay right where they are. Caressing sly fingers along his neck and holding Blaine snug against his body all at once.
“So scared, pretty thing,” he murmurs softly, and Blaine cringes internally. Mentally curses his body, Kurt’s senses, everything that makes it so damn easy for Kurt to sense how he’s feeling. To know exactly what’s going on beneath his skin, in his brain. Kurt stares up at him curiously, lips visibly moist and slightly reddened from the kiss. A few hairs have escaped to brush over the pale skin of his forehead, and he looks so young like this. His fingers drag over the skin of Blaine’s neck, pressing into the main pulse point, and Blaine flinches. Kurt frowns. “What are you so scared of?”
The responses that could follow that particular question cannot be accurately summarized in a few sentences, and the fact that Kurt can’t guess – that he seems genuinely at a loss as to why Blaine could possibly be feeling this way – makes something small and unpleasant clench inside of him. He’s clearly waiting for an answer, though; head cocked to one side and staring up at him patiently.
Blaine wonders if Kurt can smell it when he lies. Or if he somehow just... knows him better than anyone else ever has, despite everything. Because of everything.
Either way, there’s nothing he can say except for the truth.
“I’m... scared of it,” Blaine admits after a pause, licking his lips and bracing himself to say the words out loud. “Scared of being like you.”
For a second, Blaine imagines Kurt’s angelic, sweet features stretching out into that grotesque, wrong face – before his mind supplies a whole new image. His own features, dark and soft, being corrupted in the same way; Kurt’s elastic, horrible smile spreading over his own lips. Blaine’s whole body shudders in response, recoiling away from the thought.
“Kurt,” he begins, and the name catches in his throat because he’s always held it back, before. Used it as a bargaining chip; only giving Kurt the satisfaction of hearing Blaine say his name when he desperately needed to offer him something up. But there isn’t anything left to offer, now. Nothing he can hold back. “Please, can’t you just... finish it now. Get it over with, make it done –”
“Don’t,” Kurt cuts him off in a low, warning tone. His body is tensing up beneath him, face lined with dark seriousness as he speaks. “I’m not rushing this.” His nails scrape down the skin of Blaine’s neck, just hard enough to chastise. A twist curls at his lips. “I told you. You don’t get to lead me on for months and expect me to make this quick, Blaine, you just don’t.” Kurt’s eyes are burning with conviction, lips growing tighter as he speaks. “I might get to have you forever, but I only get to have you like this once.”
Dread and relief are settling heavily inside like a lead weight, and Blaine sucks in a shaky breath. “Like what?”
Eyes roving over Blaine’s face, Kurt shudders underneath him. “Human,” he breathes out heatedly against Blaine’s lips, his hand tightening into the flesh of Blaine’s side.“All hot blood and breakable, so fucking breakable.” He arches his hips up, and Blaine sucks in a breath when he feels hardness press against his stomach. Kurt licks his lips, pressing right into the pressure point as he stares at his face and Blaine can feel the pump of his own pulse against his fingers. “Going to gorge myself on you, you made me wait so long. Want to bury myself in you and drink from you over, and over, and over. I want everything, Blaine, just like I told you. Everything.”
Pressed right up against Kurt’s solid body and so aware of the beating of his heart and his ragged breathing in the air, Blaine can feel something tightening in his chest. It isn’t going to be quick. It’s going to be messy. Drawn-out. Kurt wants to enjoy himself first. Apprehension tightens and twists in his stomach.
“How long –?” he begins, swallowing hard. His mouth feels suddenly dry. “How long until you–?”
“As long as I want,” says Kurt with utter confidence, practically preening; smirking like the cat who finally, finally has his cream. He rakes his eyes over Blaine’s body on top of him, hand fisting in his shirt. “Fuck, you smell so good,” Kurt snarls quietly, some of the ruthlessness of the past weeks coming back into his face. “So beautiful.”
And without any warning, he slides his hand up to grip at the back of Blaine’s neck and pulls him into a searing, claiming kiss.
It’s heated, and hard, and there’s a desperation to the way Kurt’s kissing him that’s almost as though he’s keening out loud. His tongue presses into Blaine’s mouth, needy and claiming and utterly familiar from dozens of dreams, teeth worrying along his bottom lip. Hard and intense and taking, but Blaine is reeling too much from as long as I want, and his brain won’t turn off, and he cannot reconcile any of this in his head. Cannot make sense of the Kurt who hunted him down and terrified him and sent him a heart in a box against the soft, sweet moments that make him pine and his mind spin and send the whole world out of alignment. None of this is easy, and none of this is right. Kurt killed his friend, and threatened to kill his parents, and yet...
And yet, Kurt isn’t hurting him now. Is kissing him instead, taking what he wants and what he wants isn’t pain, and Blaine doesn’t know what to feel. Because Kurt is a killer, and Kurt is a lover. He is neither, and he is both: a quiet ruthlessness woven insidiously through with a gentleness that makes Blaine’s head hurt.
Apparently it takes Blaine too long to start kissing back, because after a few stunned moments Kurt makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, hand clenching at the back of his neck.
“Don’t pretend you don’t want this,” Kurt growls against his mouth, biting down hard and grinding his hips up simultaneously. Blaine gasps out loud as a spark of pleasure jolts through him, mouth open and feeling sweat already begin to collect along his forehead. “I can smell you, remember? You never stopped wanting this, not the whole time. Not even when I killed, or hunted you, or took care of your little friend –” Blaine squeezes his eyes tight, tries to block it out, “—you have never stopped wanting this, Blaine. Don’t lie to me, I can tell.”
“I—” Blaine chokes helplessly, and when Kurt rolls his hips up again he can’t stop himself from groaning out loud. “Kurt,” he gasps, Kurt swallows it up, pulling him into another possessive drag of a kiss. Long and hard and deep, his tongue coaxing and dominating as he keeps up a steady rhythm, grinding them together in a way that makes Blaine gasp.
“God, that first night you were gagging for it,” Kurt groans, and Blaine whimpers wantonly at the truth of it. “I could’ve pushed you up against the alley wall and had you right there and you would’ve let me.”
It’s true, it’s so true it hurts, but Blaine can’t gather himself enough to say so. He nods, blinking dazedly as Kurt reaches down and starts to strip off his t-shirt.
“I had to run, remember?” Kurt pants, hands sliding up Blaine’s torso as he helps him work the shirt off, and Blaine can tell from how hard he’s shaking that he’s barely holding onto himself by a thread. “Came so close to just biting you on the sidewalk, you know that? But I –” he lets out a high, breathy noise as soon as Blaine’s shirt is off and thrown off to one side, hands sliding over his torso as though he’s been given the very best present in the whole world. “— I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop. I was so hungry, you smelled so good, and I’d drink you dry and I couldn’t do that, needed you with me always. You smell like mine, you smell like perfect, there’s no one else in the world like you –”
Despite being on top, Blaine is basically pinned like this; Kurt is strong enough to control every movement, every touch, and all Blaine can do is gasp and kiss and roll back into it. His hands on Blaine’s skin are as unmovable as the mountains, and there’s a frantic desperation bleeding through his every movement.
It makes him sick, and wrong, and disgusting for still wanting Kurt, after everything. After the people he killed, and the lives he ruined, but Blaine can’t help it. And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s deranged, or if it’s something of Kurt’s nature that’s wriggled into his mind and twisted under his skin. Maybe it’s neither, maybe it’s both, he’ll never know. Because he has been tortured for so long by the horrible, horrible fact that he’s still wanted Kurt through all of it, through everything, and now?
Now, the only thing he can do is give in.
And below him, Kurt’s eyes are starting to bleed through with red.
“Need you,” Kurt growls, his high voice deepening with want and certainty and harsh desperation. When he opens his mouth, eyes blown completely through with red, Blaine can see that two of his teeth have elongated and sharpened in his mouth. Glinting bright white in the half-light of the room, and the instinct to run run run run run seizes at his whole body. He tenses up in Kurt’s arms, the knowledge of what is about to happen pounding in his veins. “Need you, need you, need you –”
But Kurt’s whole body is shaking violently. Panicked apprehension is bursting in Blaine’s mind, but there’s nowhere to run. Nothing to do, no way to stop it, and he’s not even sure if he wants to stop it. Without another word, Kurt twists his hand through his curls, yanks him down, and buries his face in the side of Blaine’s neck.
The sudden piercing pain of fangs puncturing into his neck makes him cry out with a wrecked, strangled noise at the sudden sharpness of it. Slicing easily through the skin, stabbing into him and making his whole body spasm, and Blaine can’t suppress the instinct to try to thrash away from the pain. Flailing and bucking, trying to strain away; off Kurt, away from the feeling of something cutting into him, into one of his body’s most vulnerable places. But Kurt seems to be expecting it; holds him in place as he whines and gasps and tries to twist away, face pressed right up into the curve of Blaine’s neck and biting down.
As soon as the skin is broken, Kurt groans headily against his neck, against the open wound in a way that makes Blaine cry out again at the vibrations. Shuddering, he can feel the hot wetness of his own blood spilling out from the punctures, into Kurt’s waiting mouth as his hands fist in Kurt’s shirt, the sheets, anything he can hold onto. Through the shock of it, Blaine can hear Kurt swallowing against him; drinking down the initial flood of hot blood into his mouth. A few drops are sliding down his neck, dripping onto Kurt’s chest beneath him, and a tiny whimper escapes from his throat.
The sharpness of the pain is starting to smooth over into an aching, drawn-out throb that pounds in his neck, in his head, right through to his fingertips. Kurt holds him tight, right up against his chest until Blaine stops struggling; until that useless, instinctual need to run can be conquered and shoved down and suppressed. Kurt’s hands are unmovable forces as they hold Blaine in place, holding him close and tight and real.
And slowly – after a long pause that fills the room and vibrates in every nerve – Kurt begins to suck down.
It is like every one of the past two months’ dreams all at once. The sweet, the sensual, the horrific, the painful. Mouth hanging open and face slick with sweat, Blaine gasps at the dragging, aching sensation of blood being drawn out of him, leaving his body, being swallowed down. It hurts, the too-much pull and throb of it reducing the entire room to the single point where Kurt’s mouth meets his neck; but it also makes something hot and coiled grip and twist in the base of his stomach. Something wrong and real and heated, spiking up every time the pressure of Kurt sucking edges higher. He sags down against Kurt’s chest, throat tender and pulsing as the greedy mouth pulls him all down.
There’s a loud, ragged noise in the room, and it takes Blaine far too long to realize that it’s his own voice. Groaning out wordless, meaningless noises that struggle helplessly out into the air. It’s starting to feel cold, a chill that starts in his neck but keeps sliding down into his chest, his arms, his legs. So much at once and it’s twisting, the whole room is skewed and sideways as he slumps against Kurt’s chest and doesn’t struggle and black and white spots swim in front of his vision.
When Kurt finally wrenches his mouth away, Blaine can hear him panting raggedly against his neck. There’s a high, satisfied little sigh – and suddenly the world is spinning violently. Blaine squeezes his eyes shut at the ways his stomach wrenches at the movement, and when he opens them again he’s staring up from the flat of his back with Kurt on top of him, face tucked back into the curve of his neck and mouth pressed back against the wound. Not sucking, not anymore, but stroking over it in languid swipes of his tongue that slide along the skin wetly and collect the blood still trickling out. He can’t do anything in response; can only stare up at the ceiling with heavily-lidded eyes as the room drifts at the edges and Kurt presses down into him.
Blaine is still aching, still bleeding when Kurt slides his mouth away. Blood slides lazily down his neck and soaks into the sheets below, but it’s nowhere near as much as before. Has no idea how much blood he’s lost, except for the tiny voice in the back of his head that says he always imagined that neck wounds would bleed more. He lifts a loose-wristed hand up to his own neck, hissing when he brushes the puncture marks and pulling his fingers back wet and slick. He holds his fingers in front of him and stares for a moment, fixated by the bright red. The wound isn’t where he thought it would be; it’s not over a main vein, but off to one side.
He blinks up in dazed confusion at Kurt above him. His face is close and beautiful, mouth smeared with bright streaks of blood – his blood. And the expression on Kurt’s face is absolutely sinful. He’s radiating satisfaction, delicate features all sagging and with no sign of the composure he usually wears like a constant mask to be found. He looks very much intoxicated, drunk on the taste of him: the red is gone from his eyes, but the bright blue that remains is heavily glazed. Hair tussled and tongue lolling out sloppily to collect the redness spread over his lips, it occurs to Blaine that he almost looks well-fucked.
“I...” Blaine tries to say, but it comes out as a tiny noise at the back of his throat instead. He blinks heavily. Before he can try to do anything else, however, Kurt is leaning in to kiss him messily on the lips.
There’s a delayed second before Blaine realizes what’s happening, and he starts to kiss back thickly before the strong coppery tang registers on his tongue. He chokes a bit at that, recoiling weakly, but Kurt just pushes in and keeps kissing him. Opening his mouth easily and sliding their tongues together, invading Blaine’s mouth with all the ease with which he just invaded his neck. His teeth are flat and human again.
“You’re so good,” Kurt murmurs breathily against him, languidly pressing open-mouth kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw. Leaving little smears of wetness in their wake. “So good, just like I always imagined you would be.” Sliding down Blaine’s body, moving down to where his chest is exposed and naked in the lamplight. Kurt reaches over with a single finger to the wound on Blaine’s neck, swiping it along the two little marks and making Blaine wince at the jolt of pain. He brings his finger back wet, bringing it up to his lips and groaning as he sucks it into his mouth. Blaine’s cock twitches between his legs at the sight, and he feels too weak to feel shame.
“This is how it was supposed to happen,” says Kurt, going back to pay more attention to Blaine’s chest as he slides his way down his torso. Pressing little kisses, and soft licks, and biting down softly on one of his nipples as he works his way down; making Blaine arch up beneath him. “Before all my plans got spoiled. Just like this.”
When he reaches Blaine’s jeans, he can feel himself sucking in a startled breath. Kurt slides his tongue along the skin just above the waistband, hands trailing along his sides; skimming in a way that makes him shiver. His neck is still throbbing softly and he can’t quite get warm, but all of his body’s attention is beginning to shift lower. Kurt brings his hands down to the front of Blaine’s jeans, fingers drifting over the button. When Kurt looks up, he locks their eyes together and his mouth twists when he notices how Blaine is staring down at him in wonder. A smug, entitled little smirk nudges at the corner of Kurt’s perfect mouth, still stained pink, as he stares at him.
“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he purrs, and begins to unbutton Blaine’s jeans.
Click here to continue to part two.