He always smelt like blood, and she hated it.
He'd come home at exactly 3:30 most mornings, shower, and climb into her bed to nuzzle into her neck and whisper goodnight with a tiny smile on his face. But the soap and the cologne could only do so much, and she always caught the trace scent of metal in a butcher's shop clinging to his skin, his hair.
Even on the nights he stayed at home with her, locked in his study with all his monitors and screens, oblivious to her cups of coffee and her small kisses, she still thought she could smell it. It drove her to madness some nights, but it's not like he'd notice. Later on when she was wrapped around him and he was giving her the most attention she ever really got, it was in the back of her mind, teasing, taunting. When she'd first met him he smelt like Axe spray and spearmint gum, and when she leaned in to kiss his neck now, she tried to convince herself he still smelt like that.
When she tried to tell him, he smiled. A funny little smile that scared her, until he grabbed her hand to pull her into his lap and kiss her senseless. She was surprised, until she felt his open pocket knife trace softly down her back, a warning. He shoved her off his lap and left the room. She never mentioned it again.
The only thing that kept her there was the danger. She loved him, yes, but she was addicted to the thrill of it all, crossing the line, playing with fire, and nothing could give her a high quite like it. It was all about him, and he liked it that way. She liked it that way. And when the night comes when he goes out and never comes back again, she'd move on. It was inevitable and probably healthier for her, but she still prayed that tonight wasn't that night.
She looked at her neon clock. 3:29.
She wanted to pretend just a little while longer.
Hey guys! So hoped you liked the fic, it's just been floating around in my imagination for about a billion years so I had to write it down :) reviews, pretty please?