Fic: Blood Sticks, Sweats drips
Summary: It's Kurt's 30th birthday, and Blaine has the perfect present
Serial Killer AU
Word Count: ~2,000
Author's Notes: it's my darling nowishforwing's birthday! This is for you bb
Warnings: bloodplay, knife play, PEOPLE DEAD
also sex. Next to a dead body
Jesus wishy, WHAT I DO FOR YOU
Title comes from the Florence + The Machine song "Kiss With A Fist"
Blaine couldn't help the smile that broke over his face. Kurt wasn't doing anything special. He was just cleaning his knife. Kurt always took such good care of his things. Blaine fingered his wedding ring. Such good care.
"Hey Kurt." He called.
Kurt half turned, still rubbing the last remnants of blood from the knife, "Mm?"
Blaine just smiled. "I love you."
Kurt's cheeks pinked slightly, but he just rolled his eyes. "You're just trying to butter me up so next time you get to finish it."
"No, it was your birthday present!" Blaine protested, although now that he'd thought of that he kind of wanted to. The feel of warm blood over his fingertips, the way their eyes got so wide... but watching Kurt work was amazing too. He looked so regal, the blood so bright against his pale skin where it splashed. Kurt looked like a fairytale come to life; Blaine half expected the drops of blood to bloom into roses where they touched Kurt's skin. Or like an angel.
(Blaine had read the Bible, had absorbed it every evening growing up. Angels weren't what kids seemed to think they were. They were soldiers of God, armed with flaming swords and sent to smite the wicked and flay evil from the face of the Earth.
Kurt's favorite was to strip the skin off of their target's face, slowly peeling it off as he whispered about all the layers inside a person.
"Because of the layers?" Blaine always teased.
"Because of the layers." Kurt would reply, smiling just a little wider than usual.
Kurt didn't do it often, because doing any one thing too often would make people think serial killer and they didn't want that. Blaine hadn't realized that at first, had begged for Kurt to do it every time. He'd wanted to watch his angel flaying the wicked, the look of ecstatic concentration on Kurt's face as he worked his craft. But Kurt had corrected him, and showed him all the other ways you could open someone up and see what made a man.
Blaine had never really thought about how many ways there were to kill a man before. But Kurt had so many ideas. Blaine had always loved Kurt’s imagination, from the first time Kurt had showed him one of his designs. This was no different.
"That's what happens when you grow up bullied," Kurt had shrugged, when Blaine had exclaimed over a particularly graceful kill. Kurt had broken up his ribs and showed Blaine the sluggishly pumping heart, showed Blaine how hard a man can fight to survive. "You find ways to cope. I sang. And decided to never be a victim again."
"Never," Blaine had whispered, throat tight with pain and love, "Never again.")
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Kurt moaned, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. “It’s all wrinkles and grey hairs ahead of me.”
“They say that Elizabeth Bathory bathed in blood, and kept herself young and gorgeous that way,” Blaine murmured. He slid his fingers in the pool of blood puddling in the stab wounds of John Samkin (42. Serial rapist. Just left prison on good behavior. HIV negative.) He swiped it across Kurt’s cheekbones, poking his tongue out teasingly when Kurt squealed at the sudden warm wetness.
He leaned in, traced the crimson streak with the tip of his tongue. Kurt shivered as Blaine’s breath puffed over the cooling blood. “You’ll always be beautiful to me, Kurt.”
“So that means you don’t want to see if we can fill a bathtub?” Kurt raised an eyebrow, and Blaine shivered at the challenge there.
“I never said that,” he murmured, painting Kurt’s pale skin with another man’s life. He thought of Snow White, of drops of blood on crystal snow. He dug his nails in, and watched as the skin whitened under the red smear. He imagined pushing harder, until Kurt’s own blood welled to the surface.
Blaine let go immediately. He would never hurt Kurt. Kurt watched him knowingly.
“I’m almost done with this,” Kurt whispered. He ran the edge of the blade along Blaine’s Adam’s apple, and Blaine’s cock, already half-hard from the warm blood on his fingers, twitched painfully in his jeans. He panted, watching his reflection in the smooth metal. “So,” Kurt licked his lips. Blaine tracked the move with his eyes, and remembered Kurt licking blood off those lips. He pressed a bloody thumb to Kurt’s lips. Kurt opened his mouth the tip of it into his mouth and sucked. Blaine’s eyes fluttered close as he moaned, hips bucking up.
“No,” Kurt said sternly, and the knife bit warningly into Blaine’s neck. Not quite deep enough to draw blood. Blaine laughed breathlessly. Kurt would never hurt him. It was a heady, gorgeous feeling. Like falling, like that last bursting breath before your head hits the water.
“Go do something else,” Kurt said firmly, pushing him away with one hand. Blaine let himself be rocked back. “I need to make sure my baby is all clean.”
“I thought I was your baby,” Blaine pouted. He didn’t mean it. He loved how much care Kurt put into his knives, the love he poured into every one. The way he’d only use this one for skinning, and this one was reserved for the thin skin of the throat, while this one was for carving designs into the thick skin of a man’s back.
“You got this for me,” Kurt kissed his cheek, “I need to take care of it.” He ran the cloth over the silver lovingly. It was an almost exact replica of the blades Sweeney Todd had used to butcher his way through England. Kurt had nearly cried when he opened them. Blaine had searched for weeks, for the perfect present for his perfect (perfectly imperfect) husband, and it had all been worth it to see the look on Kurt’s face as he said, “Oh this deserves a special christening.”
Blaine stole a quick kiss, and then skipped over to pick up a book from the man's bedside table. Frankenstein. "I love this book!" He gushed, flipping through it excitedly.
"You would." Kurt rolled his eyes fondly. "A tale of misunderstood monsters just wanting to be loved? Of course you would."
“'I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.'” Blaine read.
"How dramatic" Kurt smiled, brushing his fingertips over where Blaine's Adam's apple peeked out above the collar. Blaine shuddered, and wished that Kurt hadn't been quite so fastidious in wiping the blood off his fingers. "I wonder if Rachel's read this."
"We'll have to introduce her."
"Oh god no, she's bad enough already. I'd actually have to kill her if she decided she wasn't only under appreciated but also misunderstood." Blaine laughed, because Kurt's voice was always so soft with love when he bitched about Rachel.
"You love her." He teased.
"You can't help but love Rachel. It's that or go insane."
"I'm crazy for you baby" Blaine teased, just to watch Kurt try to fight back his blush. Blaine loved making Kurt blush, loved watching the rush of blood just under Kurt’s skin. It was unbearably erotic. He pressed his lips to Kurt’s pulse point and breathed in the smell of sweat and the lingering traces of blood. He ground himself against Kurt’s hips as he licked along Kurt’s jugular.
“Blaine.” Kurt laughed, his voice high with faux-scandalization. “He’s right there.”
Blaine glanced at where the John lay on the floor, his blood still warm and fresh. Blaine felt a pang of guilt about the carpet. It probably wouldn’t be able to be saved. Maybe they should leave some cash to help the motel cover it.
“I know,” His voice cracked a little.
Kurt raised his eyebrows, “I didn’t know that was a thing for you.”
“You learn something new everyday.” Blaine murmured, smothering his grin into Kurt’s neck.
Kurt sighed, and looked away. Blaine faltered back, confused. The next thing he knew, he was flat on his stomach, Kurt straddling his back. Kurt leaned over him, and slid his fingers through the pool of blood. He traced swirls of it onto the back of Blaine’s neck. Blaine bucked helplessly, grinding his erection into the floor.
“You’re so hot for it,” Kurt murmured, his breath puffing against Blaine’s ear. He somehow sounded smug and amazed and turned on all at once. He traced the swirls with his tongue. Blaine moaned, twisting around to try and get at Kurt’s lips. When they connected, Blaine tasted chap stick and blood and Kurt. He sucked in Kurt’s bottom lip, and reveled in the taste of blood there.
(once, Blaine had bitten Kurt’s lip too hard during sex, had torn through and tasted Kurt’s own blood. He’d nearly thrown up. He’d leapt away and ran for a washcloth and spent far too long fretting and worrying and apologizing for hurting Kurt. Kurt had rolled his eyes and snapped about how Blaine liked the taste of blood, but accepted the washcloth. He knew it was different)
“I want you,” Blaine panted, pushing up to grind his ass into Kurt’s groin, “I want you so bad.”
“Even after all this time?” Kurt asked, and his voice is soft, young in a way that Blaine hasn’t heard it in years.
“Always,” Blaine promised. He grabbed Kurt’s hand, wrapped it around the razor Kurt had placed so lovingly next to him. Kurt’s hand tensed, but he let it happen. Blaine’s whole body shuddered at the trust there. Kurt wasn’t trusting Blaine with himself, he was trusting Blaine with Blaine. Blaine had never felt more precious. He pressed the blade against his throat and rutted back against Kurt’s cock in the same move. “I’d die before I stopped."
Kurt’s other hand grasped him through his pants roughly. He fumbled with the zip for a moment before pulling Blaine’s cock out. His hand was already slick as it moved across him, and Blaine frowned, confused, as he looked down. His cock was streaked with red, blood slipping over his cock as Kurt pumped him. He had to bite his lip to keep from coming at just the sight. It was warm against him, and Blaine knew in the back of his head that it was because of Kurt, because of Kurt’s warm hands and the blood flowing through Kurt’s veins, all that blood, all that life, inside Kurt.
He threw back his head and shoved into Kurt’s fist with a howl. Kurt pressed the knife against the slick skin of his throat, gently riding his Adam’s apple with just the tantalizing promise.
“I’d kill you before I stopped loving you. You’re never ever going to live without me,” Kurt promised, hot and wet in Blaine’s ear, and Blaine came with a shattered sob. His come streaked the pools of blood like a painting, and Blaine nearly came again at the sight.
“I love you so fucking much,” Blaine rasped, and let Kurt just take. Let Kurt pry him open with bloody fingers and take him, rough and bare against the cheap motel carpet. John’s blood slicks the way, and Blaine came a second time without a hand on his cock, on just the feeling of Kurt inside him and John’s blood the only thing between them.
Kurt shuddered as he came inside him, come and blood mixing inside Blaine. He kissed Blaine’s neck, gave apologetic little kitten licks to the tiny nicks the wiggling blade had cut in the heat of it. “I love you,” Kurt promised.
“Forever?” Blaine choked.
Kurt grabbed his chin and jerked his head back to kiss him, slow and dirty. Blaine tasted that familiar mix of blood and sweat and Kurt, and had to blink away tears. Kurt bent his head and kissed the ring on Blaine’s finger, sucked the blood out of the engraved grooves (My Teenage Dream).
“Forever,” he promised. “I’ll never say goodbye to you.”