Fic: "Until My Dying Breath", Chapter Eight-- Part Two. Kurt/Blaine Vampire AU.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Epilogue
Click here to return to part one.
--
The in-between parts don’t stop happening, either.
Showers and meals and sleeping and talking, and all of it still so surreal and incomprehensible to him. All of the elements and aspects that Blaine never even considered when he handed himself over, only they constitute the majority of their time, really. And they never stop shocking him, even as his body grows more worn-out and weakened as time goes by. Even as Blaine feels almost delirious with how overwhelming and restricted it all is, being kept this way. Like a pet, and a lover, and a treasure all at once.
Kurt even leaves the apartment, sometimes. Gives Blaine a kiss on the lips and walks out the door to go buy groceries, or go to get the mail. Sometimes, he doesn’t even articulate what he intends to do outside the four walls that constitute Blaine’s reality; just walks out into what Blaine can only assume to be the night without more than a brief goodbye.
The only thing that Blaine knows for sure that Kurt isn’t doing out there is feeding, and that’s only because Kurt had reassured him of it one time between drinking down large gulps over blood from Blaine’s waist. You don’t think I’m still having other people, do you, Blaine? and don’t need any of them when I have you and god, you taste so good; you’re amazing, Blaine, can’t believe you’re all mine as Blaine had arched and whined and clenched down on the stabbing pain of it all.
But no matter what his business in the outside world might be, Kurt always, always leaves the door unlocked behind him when he goes. Leaves Blaine sitting in the apartment, theoretically free to try to get away.
The first time, Blaine assumes that it’s some kind of a test. That Kurt must be waiting outside to see if he’ll make a run for it, or is yearning for the heated pulse of the chase again while he tracks Blaine down and hunts him throughout the city.
It’s the only moment where Blaine seriously wonders whether Kurt knows him half as well as he thinks he does. Because Blaine understands, now, with bone-deep certainty that there simply there isn’t any point in trying to escape. Any chance he ever had to get out of this only ever existed in his head; no matter his own stupid, human delusions, Kurt has him in Blaine palm of his hand since the first moment they met. If he runs, Kurt will find him. Will slaughter the people Blaine loves and smile while he does it, and make Blaine pay for even considering the possibility of escape.
He waits patiently for Kurt to return home, instead. He doesn’t even get close to the door.
After the third, fourth, fifth time it happens, however, Blaine starts to wonder whether or not Kurt leaving him alone is any kind of test at all; that maybe Kurt simply has utter faith that Blaine won’t try to get away from anymore. He has no idea which theory is more unsettling.
Other times, however, Blaine can almost forget himself in the strangeness of the entire situation.
“Are you... sewing?” asks Blaine in quiet disbelief, forgetting himself in his surprise as he cranes his neck to see into the space that had always previously been blocked off by a closed door. Until now, he had always assumed that he door concealed nothing more than some kind of storage closet. But instead of brooms and cleaning supplies or boxes or books, there is instead a whole room now visible through the opened doorway. He can see Kurt, dressed impeccably in a tailored plaid jacket and hunched delicately over a sewing machine, his eyes narrowed and fixed on the fabric he is carefully feeding under the pumping needle.
Eyelids heavy with sleep and the cut on his shoulder (and arm, and thigh, and the swell of his ass and the back of his neck, and all over his body peppered like little sigils of ownership) throbbing softly, Blaine blinks at the very unexpected sight.
The thump-thump-thump-thump-thump of the sewing machine is what woke him up from his nap in the first place. (At least, he’s fairly sure that it was a nap; it’s hard to tell because the windows are covered right up and the lamps always cast the same light over the room and for all Blaine knows he could have been lying here asleep for quite a number of hours.) For a moment, he wonders if he might be dreaming - until he comes to the conclusion that seeing Kurt, the creature out of a nightmare who had haunted and tormented and tortured him for so long, actually physically sewing is too strange and unreal for his mind to concoct on its own. He almost wants to laugh out loud at the sight.
“Everyone has to make a living somehow,” says Kurt with a smirk, raising both eyebrows and looking over in Blaine’s direction with an amused look on his angelic face. He adjusts the position of the fabric, turning his attention back to the work at hand as he carefully nudges it under the needle. The machine is so loud that he has to almost shout slightly in order to be heard. “I wanted to welcome you properly, of course, but I really do have to make this deadline. No matter how long I’m around, the postage system remains painfully slow.” He huffs slightly. “It’s very disappointing.”
“This is what you do?” asks Blaine, still feeling a bit fuzzy and slow. His shoulder burns and twinges when he moves to adjust himself so that he’s sitting higher, and when he glances over at it he sees that the cut Kurt had suckled from so eagerly a few hours ago has been wrapped in gauze. Kurt nods, his eyes still fixed on the work in front of him.
“Mmmmm,” Kurt hums, finishing off the seam and cutting the threads. His voice is still raised slightly so that Blaine can hear him from the other room. “I’m the... well. What is it you call it when someone writes something and then it’s credited to someone else? A ghost author?” He shrugs. “It’s something like that.” He lets out a high chuckle, and there’s a little bit of noise as Kurt gathers up a few items and then practically prances out into the living room to join him. Kurt lowers himself gracefully onto the floor next to the end of the couch Blaine is curled up against, depositing a few sheets of paper right onto Blaine’s lap with something gleeful in his eyes.
Obediently, Blaine looks over the pile of papers in front of him.
The first is a swooping, gorgeous sketch drawn in thin black ink lines. It’s of a man, elegant and poised, decked out in a handsome jacket with a very interesting piece of detailing on the shoulders as well as some formfitting trousers. There are a few swatches of fabric pinned to the paper: one in a heavy cream denim, the other a rich green that feels like cotton. When Blaine flips over the page, he sees that the piece of paper beneath it contains an identical sketch - but this time, there are little handwritten notes and arrows drawn all over the margins. Bronze button for the fly and will want to show with unbuttoned collared shirt with no tie and be careful with the fit over the shoulders. When Blaine flips through, he sees this pattern repeats itself throughout the stack; menswear, women’s wear, there doesn’t seem to be a solid pattern.
“There’s this designer,” Kurt begins emphatically, his head resting lazily on Blaine’s thigh as he gushes. Kurt is still thrumming happily from drinking his fill earlier, energy rolling off of him in thick waves as he speaks. And as sick as that should make Blaine feel, knowing what caused it, his giddiness is still practically contagious. “Not untalented, per se,” he continues, cocking his head to one side, “but not nearly enough zing to make it on his own. So a few decades ago, I contacted him and we made a little deal. I send him my designs, as well as the occasional mock up. He remains the public front for the company, and in exchange for a hefty chunk of the profits no one ever has to know about his lacklustre abilities.” Kurt shrugs, a touch of what is clearly old bitterness making his lips thin and his voice tighten. “It’s his name on the brand, of course. But sadly, my... inability to participate in the public eye makes it impossible for me to branch out on my own.”
“I don’t know that many designers,” Blaine admits, feeling slightly embarrassed about it as he flips through more of the pages. They’re good designs - really good, actually - but he can’t truly put his finger on the elements that make them so exceptional.
When he was younger, Blaine had assumed that a natural part of being gay was to be interested in high fashion. And he had tried; he really had. He had purchased Vogue with the best of them for a few years, and attempted to keep up with the who’s who of the fashion world. But his own personal style had always been somewhat unconventional; almost retro, really, too old for him and nothing approaching cutting edge. Once he moved to New York, he had realized how unnecessary it was for him involve himself in that aspect of gay culture considering the kinds of men he tended to attract.
Next to him, Kurt lets out an amused laugh. “I wouldn’t worry,” he says slowly, smirking slightly as he leans into Blaine’s side and lets out a little melancholy sigh. “You’d recognize the name if you heard it.” He tugs Blaine’s arm over and presses a kiss against the gauze, practically purring with his stomach warm and full with blood.
And it’s all so funny, and sweet, and makes Blaine smile automatically before his brain catches up with him. Before what the fuck is wrong with you and how can you be okay with this bludgeon him across the face like a slap, and the smile hangs empty and hollow on his face like the ghost of a feeling.
--
Blaine wakes up in drifting lilts of sensation that steal along the edges of his mind, slipping into his dreams and coaxing him into reality in slow pulls until awareness begins to solidify like an image clarifying. The little sensations pull him awake; the gentle press of dry lips against his shoulder, the heat of someone’s breath tickling the hairs at the back of his neck, the soothing touch a hand rubbing calming circles into the bare skin of his ass beneath the sheets.
When Blaine breathes in deep and smells Kurt, all around him like a blanket and an embrace, the familiarity of the smell makes any tension in his body ebb away into easy looseness and relaxation. He sighs into the pillow, sleepy and happy and with the beginnings of an erection already pressing into the mattress. And when he presses back easily into the touches, Blaine can hear Kurt make a quietly pleased noise above him.
There is the shifting of weight as Kurt moves closer, pressing his naked body right up against him so that his stomach is right up against Blaine’s back. The movement nestles Kurt’s cock, hard and wanting and the skin of it so soft, right into the cleft of Blaine’s ass. Kurt loves his ass; loves the fullness of it, the curve and fleshiness of the cheeks that is so very different from his own. Loves to dig his nails into it, to knead the muscles and spread his cheeks and grip it as he drags Blaine up and down on his cock. A small, low noise of pleasure escapes from Blaine’s throat at the touch, his eyes fluttering open.
They’re in Kurt’s bedroom, warmly lit as always, wrapped up together in the sheets of the bed. Blaine’s body is sore and worn out, hurting in dozens of places but tingling for Kurt’s touch all over. Kurt presses another kiss against Blaine’s neck, this one longer and more lingering, and he can feel his cock hardening from morning wood to a full, eager erection.
“Morning,” says Blaine sleepily, the sound turning into a satisfied little groan when Kurt slides his hand away from the flesh of Blaine’s ass, tickling along the jut of his hip, and wraps it dexterously around Blaine’s needy cock. The touch sends a little fissure of pleasure along Blaine’s spine, even though Kurt doesn’t immediately start to jerk him off. Just holds him close like this instead, hand wrapped around him and the pressure of his body so close an unspoken promise between them.
“Good morning to you, too,” says Kurt, and the coy smile in his voice is enough to make Blaine grin sleepily even though Kurt can’t see. Can probably smell him, though; can smell his happiness, his contentedness. The whole room is probably swimming with the heavy smell of Blaine’s arousal, and the thought of that is enough to make Blaine shiver with pleasure and press his ass back against the hardness of Kurt’s cock. He knows how much Kurt likes how warm he is, after all; how the heat of his body makes Kurt want to press inside and be warmed and held by that incredible, human heat.
Kurt lets out a blissful little noise at the instinctual movement, burrowing into Blaine’s neck and breathing in deep. Inhaling the smell of Blaine’s blood flowing beneath delicate skin, sliding his tongue against the pulse point. Almost certainly remembering the last time he fed, yesterday morning. Something hot and pleased curls and jolts in Blaine’s stomach at the thought of it.
“Want you,” Kurt groans, squeezing Blaine’s cock. The words are loud in Blaine’s ear, the vibrations tickling along the still-healing wounds on his neck - and the breathy desperation of his tone make Blaine groan right back as he remembers all of the things the two of them have done together after Kurt has expressed that particular sentiment. The time Kurt pulled him up by the hips and slid his tongue along the crack of Blaine’s ass, teasing him as Blaine fisted his hands in the sheets and arched up and whined for it until Kurt finally pushed his tongue inside, past the ring of muscle. Sucking and circling and fucking him with his tongue for what had seemed like forever until Blaine had finally come with a broken, strangled cry and spilled over Kurt’s hand. Or the time Blaine had crawled over Kurt’s body and taken his cock in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard as Kurt’s hand twisted in his curls and he’d chanted praise and encouragement before finally coming, hot and bitter, into Blaine’s mouth.
Even though Blaine is awake now, the world is still beautifully indistinct as a haze of lust slides around him. Kurt moves so that Blaine is lying on his back, clamouring on top of him with speed bourn of frantic neediness. Careful to keep at least some of his weight on his elbows in the way Blaine never has to do in return, Kurt settles on top of him, looking down at Blaine as though seeing something impossible and incredible.
And god, Kurt is so, so beautiful like this. Lying on top of him, all naked skin and staring down at Blaine with almost the same raw intensity as when he’s hungry and wanting and desperate to feed. Pale and sharp and inhumanly splendid, there is power running through every slender, strong line of Kurt’s body. He is captivating, and dangerous - and Blaine feels so very, very high on the fact that he doesn’t feel unsafe at all. Just protected, and cared for, and powerful in some strange way. Because Kurt is uncontainable, but Blaine can still have some kind of control over him.
When Kurt leans down and kisses him, Blaine kisses back with heady enthusiasm. The taste of their thick morning mouths fades into the background after a few moments, and all that is left is the sliding demand of Kurt’s mouth as it slides against his own. After only a few minutes Kurt impatiently grinds his hips down, mouth still sealed over Blaine’s, making their cocks slide together roughly. The movement of it sends sparks of pleasure jolting up Blaine’s spine, and his mouth falls open wider in a soundless gasp that Kurt swallows down greedily. He reaches up to grip at Kurt’s ass, tight and round and muscled and masculine, as he returns the favour and grinds up as hard as he can in return.
They rock and grind like that, bodies sliding together in a raw and open undulation of imprecise pleasure. The heat in the base of Blaine’s stomach is growing, spreading, making the hairs on his arms prickle and raise with anticipation even as he groans out loud into Kurt’s hot, perfect mouth. Every movement makes a dozen little cuts and punctures all over Blaine’s body ache and throb deliciously, little tokens of Kurt as they burn sweetly. Reminders of how good he can be for Kurt, of how he can satisfy him more than any pretty cold little corpse from his past.
Kurt pulls away gasping after a few minutes, pressing sloppy kisses against the side of Blaine’s mouth. His whole body is a ball of tension, thrumming with want. His eyes are dark, heavily lidded but untainted by any flush of red.
“More,” says Kurt, mouth wet from kissing as he presses it up against Blaine’s cheek and breathes in deep. Their hips are rolling together faster, harder, but even though Blaine’s body is coiling pleasantly it doesn’t seem to be enough for Kurt. “I want more.”
“Okay,” Blaine gasps, his head falling back as he grips Kurt’s ass and grids their cocks together hard. He even starts to move away, to reach over to get the lube from the bedside drawer when the too-tight clench of Kurt’s hand closing over his wrist stops him. He blinks up at Kurt, who is staring down at him with a needy, knowing smile curved over his mouth.
“Not like that,” says Kurt, the grin on his face turning wicked and confidential. And slowly, anticipation and excitement buzzing in every line of his body, Kurt moves Blaine’s hand back to his own ass - and guides Blaine’s fingers to his hole. It’s slick.
Blaine’s eyes fly wide open, and he stares up at Kurt in amazement. Kurt stares back, his gaze intense and purposeful as he holds Blaine’s hand in place. Even from the quickest of touches, Blaine would have been able to tell the slide of lube against skin. It’s a familiar sensation; one he’s become even better acquainted with during his time here. Hardly able to believe it, Blaine presses his finger experimentally against Kurt’s rim. His finger slides in easily to the first knuckle despite the awkward angle, and he realizes that Kurt must have stretched and slicked himself ready while Blaine was still sleeping.
“Fuck,” Blaine mutters weakly, and his eyes must be wide as saucers but Kurt just keeps looking at him as though he’s something incredible, practically purring when his finger slips inside and clenching around the tip of the digit. “You want -?” Blaine asks, stilted with shock and buzzing need. This is something they’ve never done; something that Blaine’s never been certain he could ask for. But Kurt just leans down and kisses him hungrily, rolling his hips and choking out a breathy little gasp.
“I want everything from you,” Kurt growls, biting down hard on Blaine’s lower lip. “I told you that,” he breathes, finally letting go of Blaine’s hand. Licking his lips and feeling flushed from low excitement, Blaine reaches a little farther over Kurt’s body and pushes his finger ever-so-slightly deeper into the tight, slippery hole. It goes in easily, but almost immediately Kurt wrenches his hand away.
Without a second’s pause, he snags both of Blaine’s wrists and slams them on the mattress above his head. Kneeling over Blaine’s prone body and pinning his arms down, Kurt leans down and kisses him rough and dirty. All teeth and tongue and sliding pressure, and his grip is uncomfortably tight and clenching around the delicate bones of Blaine’s wrists. But Blaine knows that Kurt isn’t angry; just eager, and determined, and wanting. He kisses back, groaning lightly into Kurt’s mouth and not attempting to break free of the pin. He wouldn’t be able to, even if he wanted to.
“Don’t need that,” says Kurt quickly, voice sounding strangled and higher than usual. He loosens his grip on Blaine’s wrists, seeming to abruptly realize how crushing his grip had been before. Blaine lets out a grateful little sigh, but doesn’t take his eyes off of Kurt on top of him. Beautiful and powerful, desperate and needy. His hair is messy, and there is the smallest hint of an uncommon flush growing in his cheeks. He lets go of Blaine’s wrists, leaning over to pluck up the bottle of lube from where it had been buried and concealed in a mound of sheets.
Moving himself far enough down to sit on Blaine’s thighs in order to expose his cock and balls to the air, Kurt pours a long squeeze of lube onto his graceful, pale hand before wrapping it around Blaine’s cock, fully hard and wanting so badly to be buried inside. The coolness of his fingers is cancelled out by the warming fluid, and Blaine hisses at how good Kurt’s slippery, focused hand feels as it strokes purposefully over him. Not trying to be pleasurable, just trying to get him ready, and Kurt’s eyes are fixed on Blaine’s thick, dark cock as his foreskin slides over the head. Blaine hasn’t moved his hands from their position above his head just in case Kurt doesn’t want him to, but his toes curl and his whole body tightens as Kurt slicks him up and stares at him hungrily.
Without even looking to see where it lands amid the sheets and covers, Kurt tosses the closed bottle away. He climbs back into place, kneeling over Blaine’s prone body and raising himself up as he takes Blaine’s cock in hand and positions it against his entrance. And Blaine barely even has time to marvel at the fact that he’s been awake for only a few minutes, and he’s getting this, and it’s so fucking hot he can barely breathe before he feels the tight slickness of Kurt’s hole, everything slippery with lube and stretching around him as Kurt lowers down and pushes himself onto Blaine’s cock, his body opening up and spreading around the thickness of it.
“Fuck,” Blaine gasps, his head falling backward onto the mattress as the tip of his cock is swallowed up by the still-warm heat of Kurt’s body. At almost the exact same time Kurt lets out a low, hissed “yes” above him, his eyes fluttering closed as he inches himself down lower and lower onto Blaine’s cock. It feels amazing; tight and engulfing, Kurt controlling the speed and angle and Blaine just lying back and letting Kurt fuck himself on his cock. Groaning, Kurt grips at Blaine’s chest as he sinks down, nails human and clipped short as they dig into Blaine’s skin, and he looks so utterly debauched like this. Shameless and desperate, pale swathes of skin and lean muscles as his body lets him inside. Kurt is so tight all around him, pushing down quickly like he needs it right now, and everything is pressure and slickness and perfect as Blaine finally bottoms out.
“You’re so hot,” Kurt groans, clenching and squeezing around him, and Blaine whines pitifully at how fucking good that feels. Kurt’s voice is high and wrecked, and the way his thin body is shaking and straining with Blaine’s cock buried inside of him disguises and obscures just how dangerous he is. It makes the heat twist and clench in Blaine’s belly anyways, though, knowing just how ruthless this man can be. How vicious, and brutal, and so very beautiful as he finds another way of taking what belongs to him.
“Please,” Blaine whimpers, because Kurt is squeezing around him so nice and all he can do is beg and plead for more. He’s helpless like this, pinned down and gripped tight in the best possible way.
Kurt rocks experimentally, one of his elegant hands coming up to rub at his own throat. His hair is messy, sweaty, and he looks so beautiful that Blaine can’t breathe. “So hot inside me, Blaine, god,” says Kurt, opening his eyes and staring down at Blaine with wanton intensity. “You burn, fuck. So good.”
And before Blaine can figure out what that means, Kurt’s whole body draws up. The muscles in his legs tighten and squeeze, and his mouth falls open as Kurt begins to move. Hard and fast, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm as he snaps himself up and slams himself down on Blaine’s cock. It feels so fucking right, being buried in Kurt this way - just as good as being fucked, but different, a whole different set of nerves bursting and flaring with every motion. It’s been so long since Blaine’s done this, but he doesn’t have to worry about doing anything wrong because Kurt is completely, utterly in control. Taking what he wants and giving Blaine exactly what he needs, just like always, the slide and tug of his body squeezing Blaine just right as he rides him hard into the mattress.
“Perfect,” Kurt groans, grinding himself down viciously and making Blaine moan. “So fucking perfect, Blaine. Love when you’re like this.”
“Like wha-” Blaine tries to ask, but then Kurt is doing some kind of rolling thing with his hips that makes him see stars, the slip-slide of lube and the clench of muscles around his cock so perfect, and oh fuck, for a second all Blaine can think about is focusing on is not coming right there and then.
Everything is hot and hard, unforgiving and growing pressure as Kurt fucks himself on Blaine’s cock. The muscles in Kurt’s legs are straining, a rare hot flush creeping up his chest and into his cheeks as he rides him, and he looks so discomposed. The pooling heat in Blaine’s stomach is spreading, uncoiling and twisting and making his vision blur. Every time Kurt slams himself down, a hot zap of pleasure jolts up Blaine’s spine. His skin is hot and flushed and slick with sweat despite the fact that all he’s doing is lying on his back and watching this gorgeous, perfect, dangerous man ride him hard, and Blaine blinks away the sweat that catches in his eyelashes.
When Blaine dares to bring a hand up to rest along Kurt’s hips he receives a keening moan of pleasure in response, and after a second he’s resting both hands along Kurt’s slender waist. Not guiding him, or pulling him down; just holding him as he thrusts back up as best he can. Trying to give Kurt everything, let him have everything, not holding anything back.
“There’s no one else like you,” Kurt gasps, his mouth hanging open as his movement begins to grow more erratic, uneven. “Oh my god, Blaine -” He chokes out a frantic, straining moan, leaning forward to change the angle and practically whimpering.
And everything is building up, getting stronger and closer as Kurt’s ass clenches and slides around him. Blaine is just trying to focus on lasting long enough for Kurt to get there when Kurt abruptly grabs one of Blaine’s hands from around his waist in a vicelike grip, drags it up to his mouth - and punctures the pad of his index finger with a single sharpened fang.
“Ah!” chokes Blaine, the movement of his hips stuttering and slowing as pain jolts and sears up his arm. Cutting and sharp and Kurt doesn’t even stop, doesn’t even slow down as he pulls Blaine’s finger into his mouth and sucks. But the pain isn’t the only thing that throbs from the cut because, god, it feels so good. The dragging pull of blood leaving his body, the ache of the broken skin, the light-headed swirl of everything around him - Blaine moans, and bites down on his lip, and practically wails as liquid pleasure twists through his whole body at the proof of how much Kurt wants him; how much Kurt needs him.
Kurt’s eyes roll back in his head as he groans around the digit, swallowing down the blood that comes out as he fucks himself down hard and fast, the movement growing frenzied as he reaches up to jerk his own cock once, twice -
And Kurt’s coming with a groan that vibrates across Blaine’s throbbing finger, grinding his hips down as his cock pulses and spurts all over his hand, his stomach. Rocking himself through it and sucking at the small amount of blood from Blaine’s finger like it’s a fucking lifeline, his back arching and eyes closing in delight as his orgasm rolls through him. He doesn’t stop moving, either. Keeps fucking himself up and down, up and down, the dragging clench of his spasming body bringing Blaine closer, holding him on the edge with his whole body tensed and rigid. Kurt sucks at his finger and Blaine grinds up into him, their bodies squeezing together and tightening up before everything releases and bursts and pushes over the edge. Before he’s coming, hard and desperate and overwhelming, coming deep inside Kurt’s ass as the other man grinds his ass down and moans in obvious delight at the feeling of Blaine coming inside of him.
Blaine’s head swims, and his whole arm pulses like a heartbeat, and Kurt is practically purring with satisfaction above him as the world settles back into place around the both of them. As Kurt clenches cruelly around his softening cock and makes him groan piteously through the aftershocks, his fingers trailing gratefully over Kurt’s side. As Kurt pulls himself off, and settles down next to him on the bed, pulling Blaine into his arms and the world keeps going, everything keeps happening, it doesn’t cut off or end abruptly and this doesn’t make sense and -
And that is when Blaine realizes, with a shaking, sinking horror that spreads through his body and makes his stomach plummet, that he isn’t dreaming.
Telling the difference between reality and the dreams has never been more difficult than in these past weeks that Kurt has kept him here. A few times, Blaine has even got the two actively mixed up. And the sudden sharp awareness that this is reality hits him hard. All at once, and almost with the same shocking jolt as waking suddenly from a dream feels like. Except that what just happened did not take place in a dream, or a nightmare, or a fantasy.
Tucked into Kurt’s shoulder with the other man humming and loose-limbed next to him, the creeping mortification dawns as Blaine it fully dawns on Blaine that what they did just happened. Right here, right now. It has consequences, and implications, and the way he acted -
“Mmmm, wakey wakey,” murmurs Kurt affectionately next to him, kissing him on the forehead. Blaine’s whole body is still thrumming and singing with his orgasm, but his body has gone rigid and his eyes are wide. Blaine’s face is hot with humiliation as his mind works over everything he just said, just did. The begging, and the desperation, and the coiling heat at the way Kurt had sucked at the wound on his finger, oh god -
“I love it when you get confused like this,” says Kurt softly next to him, pulling Blaine closer and letting out a happy, satisfied sigh. He hums in pleasure, stroking his hands over the bare skin of Blaine’s back. “That was so good, Blaine. So good.”
Blaine lies there, wrapped in the tight embrace of Kurt’s arms as their naked skin slides together. Feeling dull, and empty, and resigned as the world keeps moving. As everything stays the same, and doesn’t fade away, and the two of them keep on existing.
--
Days pass. Weeks, definitely, although Blaine can’t be sure of the exact amount of time. Not with no clocks on the walls and no windows to see the sun and all the appliances flashing zeroes in bright green letters that don’t tell him anything.
But the time in between feedings keeps getting progressively smaller and smaller, the wrench of Kurt’s mouth away from his wounds more and more reluctant as time goes by. And there’s nothing Blaine can do but wait as his nerves get more and more frayed, his body growing weaker by the day. It becomes hard to reciprocate Kurt’s touches, even when Blaine wants to. The hard taxing of his body, of his mind makes him less able to take care of himself, all of the vibrancy and life draining from his veins in slow, steady increments.
And Kurt’s purring satisfaction dries up sooner and sooner, his need to drink and gorge himself coming up stronger each time.
Every time Kurt drinks from him, the time it takes for him to move from loving caring worshipful to going to fucking take you gets shorter, and shorter, until it takes less than a day before Kurt is twitching and clawing at his skin again. Before he drinks, shallow but desperate; before he makes Blaine even weaker, and more exhausted, and more at a loss of what to do, and what to say, and what to be.
Everything turns to nerves, and restlessness, and waiting. Horrible, sick waiting for a conclusion that is inevitable; waiting out every moment of respite knowing that it can only be spoiled even as Blaine clings desperately to the praise and tenderness. And Kurt hungers, and drinks, and is satisfied until he isn’t and it all repeats over again.
It’s a cycle, but not an endless one.
It can’t last forever.
--
When it ends, it doesn’t start with the burst of violence and feeling that Blaine has almost been expecting. It doesn’t begin or end with crashing bangs of struggle, or heaving sobs of emotion. Back when Blaine was still out in the world, trying in useless desperation to keep himself alive and away from the monster with the cruel grin stalking him in the shadows, Blaine had always imagined that he would go down fighting. Straining and resisting until his dying breath, clinging to life with all of the will and force in his possession.
But when everything breaks, Blaine is too weak and exhausted and drained, so drained, to really put up that much of a fight.
By about a month into his stay in Kurt’s home, Blaine is little more than a shadow of his old self. Once healthy and strong, his body has grown so feeble that it’s hard to even move around the apartment on his own volition. The too-frequent losses of blood and his body’s inability to produce enough to replace it have rendered him almost constantly nauseated and frequently sick to his stomach. Beneath the ever-present darker pigment of his skin, Blaine’s skin is underlain with a lack of colour; his whole body is a map of little cuts and punctures and wounds that stand out harshly against it. His legs waver beneath him when he walks, and even with his glasses on the world has taken on a blurred, drifting quality that doesn’t seem to want to go away. No matter how much Kurt turns up the heat in the apartment, Blaine can’t get rid of the frigid chill that grips at his joints and makes his stomach feel hollow.
He doesn’t even look like himself, when he looks in the mirror. Wilted curls and cold, sweaty skin and clothes that hang off of him as though they were made for someone else.
On this particular day, Blaine blinks awake to an empty bed that feels cold and stoic and lonesome around him. It isn’t too unusual for him to wake up alone; sometimes Kurt goes out to run errands, and Blaine has been sleeping an absurd number of hours per day as his body frantically attempts to rest for long enough to make itself better again. Fruitlessly, of course; Kurt always gets hungry again before he can fully recover.
But for some reason, today Blaine wakes up with a persistent buzz of anxiety already thrumming at the edges of his mind; he comes back into the real world from dreams of spiking heat and loving touches with apprehension already threaded through him. He tries to ignore it: his emotions have been unpredictable since his very first day here, after all. But he can’t seem to shake the continual niggling unease.
It gets worse once he struggles to his feet, uses the washroom, changes into a loose-fitting sweater and comfortable pants, and heads out into the living room. As he walks down the hallway, Blaine moves with the flat of his palm pressed against the wall for support the whole time, and his knees are in constant danger of buckling beneath his weight. And when he emerges, the anxiety twining along the edge of his mind is immediately amplified as though someone has cranked up a knob.
Kurt has one the most infectious personalities of anyone Blaine has ever met. When Kurt is pleased, the whole room lights up; his good mood spreads, and everything feels gleeful and safe and protected. If Kurt is happy, he practically vibrates with it. It’s one of the reasons that being here is so hard; seeing Kurt smile makes Blaine’s lips automatically pull into one as well and it’s so, so hard to make himself remember why he should feel upset and angry and violated instead.
But when Kurt is in a bad mood, his irritation spreads to everything like a disease. Everything about him is expressive, his emotions painted over his posture and face as clearly as though they were written out in flashing letters. And when Blaine walks into the main room of the apartment, Kurt’s whole body is coiled up tight with strain that makes Blaine’s skin prickle and his nerves stand on edge.
His back to Blaine, Kurt’s spine is ramrod straight as he cooks what looks like some kind of pasta and clangs down pots and pans with unnecessary vehemence. He doesn’t even turn to look at Blaine when he comes into the room, even though his amplified senses mean that he has doubtless heard him enter. When he turns his face, Blaine can see that there is an iciness to his expression; his lips are pulled thin, jaw set with some hidden strain.
Immediately, Blaine can feel increased apprehension seep into his skin like cold air. He shivers, wincing when Kurt slams a bowl full of pasta and pesto on the counter in front of him without even looking at in his direction.
It gets worse throughout the day, the horrible tension of it crackling and building as the hours pass and Kurt studiously avoids him. Shuts himself up in his sewing room instead, thumping and clattering around as Blaine tries to distract himself with a book that he can barely remember the title of. Tries to ignore how unusual this is. Because when Kurt is hungry, he eats. He takes and claims and possesses without hesitation - and he never, ever avoids Blaine like this. Is always keen to show him attention, even if it’s just pulling him onto his lap or stroking his hands through his hair. The sudden change makes Blaine feel sick with apprehension. Every time he opens his mouth to speak, he thinks better of it. After a little while, he even starts to feel upset with himself; feels as though he’s done something wrong, needs to apologize, but he doesn’t know what to apologize for.
And after a few hours, the door to the sewing room is thrown open with a loud crash that makes Blaine’s whole body jump in his chair. And when he looks up, he sees that Kurt is standing in the doorway. His already-sharp features seem exaggerated, somehow; narrowed in and focused. There is rigidity and tension straining in every line of Kurt’s lean body, and his hands are shaking as he stares at Blaine with something uncontrolled and burning in his eyes.
“Hungry,” Kurt growls, low and dangerous, something wild about the tightness in his body. His eyes are darkening, red seeping in to stain the blue, and when then he’s already stalking toward Blaine with speed and frantic purpose in every step. When he gets to the chair Blaine is in, he drops to his knees and immediately starts yanking Blaine’s sweater roughly over his head. “Hungry, so hungry, you make me so hungry. Let me, let me have this, need it -”
“Okay,” says Blaine, more of an acknowledgement than consent, almost glad for something to break the awful, sickly tension. It will be fine, and Kurt will feel better after this, and everything can go back to usual. His arm gets wrenched the wrong way as Kurt pulls the sweater off with such force that he can hear one of the seams splitting.
And then it’s off, thrown across the room, and Blaine’s arms are exposed to the cold of the air as his t-shirt-clad torso is revealed. But he barely has time to the cold before Kurt is already grabbing at his wrist, pulling it up so that the paler flesh of the underside is exposed - and crashing his mouth against his forearm, teeth slicing through skin as he bites down hard and begins to suck, brutally hard and wanton as he digs his teeth in with such ferocity that Blaine has to bite back a scream.
He gasps and chokes at the sudden stretching burst of pain instead, and the slicing sting and drag of it is usually too familiar by now for it to wrench any yells out of him anymore. Blaine bites down on his lip and lets his head fall forward, a cold sweat already gathering at his temple as the suction of Kurt’s mouth pulls greedily at his the wound. Swallowing the blood down covetously, without any elegance or pacing; groaning around the burst of blood that floods into his mouth and practically attacking him for more.
Kurt’s angelic, beautiful face is twisted up and awful as he sucks down hard, and the pain of it flares angrily in Blaine’s arm. It’s almost a shock without the cushion of orgasm to distract him, but Kurt is way too far past desperate to bring either of them off at this point. His body is almost able to tune out the pain of it, after a moment; he can feel the sharp, hot tug in the base of his stomach instead as something uncoils and surrenders into the brutality of the touch. He squeezes his eyes shut, focusing hard on not wrenching his arm away from the overwhelming roughness of the sensation.
He’ll be happy after he drinks, thinks Blaine frantically, his free hand clenching on the arm of the chair so hard his knuckles start to ache. Horrible nausea twists in his stomach as he loses even more blood - so much more than he should be losing, god, it shocks him sometimes that he’s still standing - and keeps his arm still, expecting Kurt to pull away like he always does after about this much time.
But Kurt doesn’t pull away. Keeps his mouth clamped around the wound, redoubling the pressure and sucking so hard that Blaine’s hand is starting to go numb. The world jolts and spins, and panic is starting to grip at Blaine’s chest. He gives his arm an experimental tug - Kurt usually lets him get away, when he does that, because sometimes he gets overeager but he doesn’t actually want Blaine to pass out - but Kurt doesn’t let him go. Growls instead, animalistic as he grips Blaine’s wrist so hard it feels as though the bone is bending and sucks harder and oh, god, it hurts.
“Kurt -!” Blaine exclaims, trying to shove him away weakly with his free hand as searing, horrible pain starts shooting up and down his arm. “Kurt, stop it, you’re - you’re hurting me -”
With one final groan, Kurt finally tears himself away from Blaine’s arm. Panting and hard, bright red blood smeared around his lips and his eyes closed heavily as he breathes. Blaine chokes out a shuddery breath, looking down at the underside of his arm with something like numb shock. The skin is frayed and split, so much more than the clean double punctures Kurt usually leaves, and Blaine slumps back against the chair as he gasps for air and tries to make the world stop spinning around him.
A long, long moment hangs between them like a pendulum. Kurt is dragging in gasps of air as though he’s drowning, still clutching at Blaine’s wrist. He’s staring at the shredded skin of Blaine’s arm, fixating on the bright red gathering weakly at the surface.
And this is where Kurt, sated and happy and contented and full, will pull Blaine into his arms and whispers praising words into his curls. He’ll pick Blaine up and carry him over to the couch, or the bed, and apply antibiotic ointment and bandages to the wound as he murmurs apologies for being too rough. They’ll watch a movie together; one of the old ones that Kurt likes, filled with romance and music and exaggerated emotion. This is where things reset, and go back, and become something that Blaine knows how to deal with. He looks up through his thick eyelashes, waiting for the shift that will inevitably come and bring them back to familiar territory.
But when Kurt looks up, Blaine’s blood runs cold.
Kurt’s eyes are still blown through with red. Murky and sickly and there’s no blue at all, and panic flares up sudden and horrible in Blaine’s chest as he stares at the monster who has been gone for so long. Back, back again, and they’ve finally reached the breaking point and this is the end.
“It’s not enough,” he hears Kurt mutter under his breath, shaking his head back and forth as his eyes trail down Blaine’s face. Slowly, slowly sliding over his cheek, the jut of his jaw - and coming to rest on the exposed flesh of Blaine’s neck. He licks his lips, swiping his tongue over and swallowing down the remaining smears of Blaine’s blood absently as he keeps on looking, delicately tilting his head to one side. His expression is entirely unreadable, inhuman like this with his eyes bled through and wrong and awful.
Kurt blinks, and the whites of his sharpened teeth are suddenly visible in the low light of the room.
“It isn’t enough anymore.”
Chapter Nine