I am trying to get back into it with writing so I can actually start updating my stories again. For this I am writing small ficlets here and there. If anyone have any prompts they are very appreciated. These can be send to me here, or to my tumblr: spikeroleplays. Also, this hasn't been edited because it was written on a whim, so bear with
I don't think you know my name
And I think you'd leave me standin' in the rain
You're a pretty little girl boy got a thing for me
But you'd cut me open and let me bleed
But I'll be looking at you with your long brown hair
Pretty little feet, sparkling everywhere
You look so good when you come my way
But I have to look down when you talk to me
It was just another night, just another walk around town. The cemetery was, of course, first stop, as always. For some reason that was where they preferred to hang out, as if they subconsciously wanted to remind everyone that they were the walking dead. In the beginning the grass covered lanes filled with headstones and mausoleums had been creepy, Kurt remembered. But not anymore. He was eighteen, had been the Slayer at work for three years, single-handedly killing vamps and other monsters that decided to stop by the Hellmouth their town was placed on top of.
It was pretty dull these days. Patrolling always seemed to go up and down depending on the seasons. Of course that had something to do with the fact that during the colder months there weren't too many people in the streets at night. It was mostly in the summer when teenagers lost their grips to their hormones, and when summer party were held here and there, secret rendezvous in in the woods, or a couple making out behind the cemetery.
But here he was, Kurt Hummel; The Chosen of his generations – simply bored to death (no pun intended) as he was on the look for whatever evil could lurk in the shadows. The stake in his hand was his faithful one. It had been passed through generations of Slayers, and maybe it made him superstitious, but he always felt a little more confident when he took this one out on patrol. As if the energies of the former Slayers had been passed on through the wood.
"There you are... I was starting to wonder if you had taken a night off," an awfully familiar voice sounded and chills ran down Kurt's spine.
The owner of the voice didn't even have to step out from the darkness for Kurt to know who it was. I should have staked him when I had the chance, was the first thing that ran through his head every time the two were even near each other. But for some reason he hadn't. And he certainly would like to figure out why. What it was that was holding him back.
"C'mon, Hummel. Don't tell me the cat got your tongue," the smirked. Yeah, Kurt could hear it even without looking. But there he was, the pale shadow of a man, with hair slick back like he hadn't gotten over the fifties yet, and a cigarette in his hand. His clothes was always so appropriate, and it tended to make Kurt wonder how he had been before he became this.
"Blaine... Of course you would be here. Don't you have a crypt to clean or something," Kurt huffed out and rolled his eyes as he did a mental check to make sure the cross he always wore around his neck was hanging outside his shirt. Just because he hadn't staked the son of a bitch yet it didn't mean he was gonna make it easy for him.
"Gotta have something to do during the day," Blaine shrugged and leaned against the wall that stretched around the cemetery. "Besides, if I was busy hanging around the crypt how could I be here talking to you?" He pointed out and let his eyes take a slow trip from Kurt's boots, up his legs, and continuing up his torso, literally licking his lips as he did so. What was going through his mind would hopefully remain a mystery.
"What do you want, Blaine? Either you get your ass out of here or you'll be dust. Your choice," Kurt snapped and crossed his arms over his chest, the tip of his stake peeking menacing out with a convenient point at Blaine's heart.
Sighing heavily Blaine bounced off the wall, pursing his lips as he started walking a circle around Kurt. Another one of his games. It seemed that Blaine was just as bored as Kurt was on this tedious December night, and apparently he didn't have any monster friends he could run out and play with. Wonder why?
For a moment all that was heard around them was the sound of creaking branches in the wind, and cars down the street. An owl howled at the somewhere in between the trees, and in a situation like this Kurt was always positive that he could actually hear his own heartbeat thumping away. Maybe it was because he was so hyper aware that his opponent had no beating in his chest. Or maybe it was the intensity of the situation. The raw energy that always seemed to be between him and whatever he was up against. It was like they were two lightning bolts fighting to create the biggest crash.
But right now all that was between Blaine and him was this insane silence. For someone who knew his way around words the way Blaine did, he sure had the silence in his power as well. Lately, whenver they had been face to face like this, Kurt had noticed that Blaine managed the silence that fell between them. It was like he was forcing Kurt silent, forcing Kurt's snappy tongue to wait, and his brain to shut down for all centers of comebacks that could match Blaine's own sharp tongue.
And there it was, what had happened between them lately whenever there was a quiet moment. Blaine's chest was pressed against Kurt's back, and the vampire was goddamn sniffing his neck. All instincts told Kurt to circle around, kick him to the ground, get him on his back and punch the stake right where it belonged – but he was paralyzed. Locked in his spot, and with his own leather jacket and sweater between them Blaine's chest almost felt warm against his back. Of course that was impossible. He was cold, dead. But the pressure...
"I'm not some animal you can just sniff," Kurt sneered and finally regained control. He spun around and headed for Blaine's throat, but his wrist was caught mid-air, making the vampire express a bark-like laughter.
"Seriously? You're not that stupid in reality, are you?" Blaine mused and in an instant had Kurt pressed against the wall, hard enough to make his shoulder blades feel like they would be scraped bloody if it wasn't for the layers of clothing separating them. Only way out he could see was a knee to the crotch, but once again Blaine was faster and had his knee – well, yeah, at Kurt's crotch. Not touching, just threatening.
"Sweet Hummel. You're just as much of an animal as I am. You're a killer, you were literally born to be a killer. I just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. But you, it's in your blood. Running through your veins." The monster spoke the words softly before taking another long, slow sniff, like he was savoring the scent. Enjoying it as if it was the scent of coffee on Sunday morning, or roses outside you window when you open it to the baking sun.
"Mhm, and I can smell it. Your blood. Did you know the blood of a Slayer tastes different than regular blood?" He asked with a small chuckle, like he was walking down memory lane. "It's sweeter. An aphrodisiac, even."
That was when it hit Kurt why he hadn't just staked the bitch sooner and gotten it over with. Stake him, a quick trip with a broom and he would be gone. But the naked truth was that Kurt liked it. He enjoyed their little games. The snide comments bouncing back and forth between them. The thick tension, and the way Blaine's eyes drifted over every inch of his body like he was a buffet.
He hated it, but when he went into the dark of the night and he knew it was gonna be slow he was waiting in anticipation for that familiar voice to appear in the black. For the pale to come and press him against surfaces, for that voice slick as honey to form words that were so uncomfortably true that Kurt couldn't deny it.
Kurt's truth simply was: he was bored, and Blaine was just the kick he needed.
By now his stake was on the ground, but it didn't matter. He knew Blaine wouldn't hurt him. He was clearly having fun of his own. If the knee that was gently pressing at his crotch was any indication, Blaine was enjoying this a lot.
And now that Kurt had admitted to himself what had been holding him back (not that he was crazy about the idea or anything, why couldn't he just lust after normal teenage boys that weren't around 150 years old?), he allowed himself to really take in Blaine's face as it was so close to his own that the tips of their noses were almost touching. He knew Blaine could feel his breath on his face, taste the coffee he had earlier and the cookie he snatched on his way out.
Just like Kurt now noticed that the eyes he had always seen as pitch black were actually a gorgeous chestnut up close. A tint of amber peeking around. And over the vampires nose a handful of freckles were thrown on the pale canvas, like stars on the night sky. His lips were full and vaguely purple. The corners of his eyes told that he had been a happy person when he was alive. Laughter had been something he had joined in a lot. Maybe he had been a wealthy man. How had he ended up as the blood thirsty, cunning devil he was today?
There were stories about him, but Kurt's Watcher had never been able to find him in the books. There were names, stories of a man fitting his description, but never any pictures or sketches. But the thing that was the most vivid in Kurt's mind was the fact that Blaine was said to have kill no less than two Slayers during his reign. He was feared by Watchers and respected by monsters. And yet Kurt was standing there, sandwiched between him and a brick wall, without so much as gesturing to fight back.
It had not missed Kurt's attention that Blaine's eyes were searching his face as closely as Kurt had searched the other's. Which meant the predatory eyes had not missed a single flaw that was on Kurt's face. Not the place under his eye he had scratched a little too red when trying to do his history homework before sundown, not the scar on his neck from that time a demon tried to turn him into a kebab, not the white spot from where he had given into the measels when he was little, not the spot where there weren't growing eyebrow hair anymore after it cracked open in a heated battle with a witch with a god-complex. No, Blaine would see every tiny single bit that was Kurt in all his reality.
Still, it seemed that where Blaine's eyes ended whenever they had been on a trip around Kurt's face, between his eyes, was his lips. It was ridiculous, possibly, but Kurt couldn't help wonder what craving was the strongest for Blaine in that moment: to kiss him, or to bite his lip open.
The tight grip on Kurt's wrist hadn't lessened at all, and his fingers were starting to feel numb, so he tried to wiggle them a little, and that made Blaine release slightly – not enough for Kurt to get free without battle, but just slightly, to let the blood run through.
"So... Is this where you think you're gonna have a taste?" Kurt tried, testing the waters to see where they were standing. Blaine's eyes immediately snapped to his blue, and Kurt could actually see them grow slightly darker. Slowly he tilted his head to the side, like a big cat observing its prey. His eyebrows narrowed toward the bridge of his nose, and his eyes squinted.
"Do you want me to have a taste, Slayer?" He asked quietly, like they were sitting by the fire, reading a book each and only rarely broke the silence.
Kurt didn't know what he had expected. He was still trying not to let himself think about what he actually had a dirty hope would happen with Blaine, but he couldn't hide the annoyance over how long it seemed to be taking Blaine to actually get to the point. Was this a date or a fight?
With a swift motion Kurt snapped his wrist out of Blaine's hand and started pressing against his chest, but again Blaine was faster, and suddenly his face was buried against Kurt's throat. The way his heart was running away like a fire engine was sure to have Blaine hear the pulse gallopping literally right under his nose, and Kurt's train of thoughts of whether this was date or death was interrupted when cold lips pressed against his pulse-point.
"I can feel your pulse on my lips," Blaine muttered against Kurt's skin before he sucked hard, no teeth. Lips sucking with force, making a suction spread in Kurt's stomach. Where his hands had tried to push Blaine away only seconds before, they were now grasping onto his shoulders. Fingers were digging into the leather of Blaine's jacket, willing him to stay, continue what he was doing.
That was until Blaine released with almost a pop, Kurt's skin left bruised, but complimented by Blaine's tongue licking a thick stripe over the spot, humming as he did so. He was almost as hypnotized.
"You liked it. I could feel it, hear the change in your heart rate," Blaine told as his lips ghosted their way up Kurt's neck toward his ear where they stopped to whisper. "I bet you taste the best of all of them."
His voice was barely audible over the sound of Kurt's breathing, labored and needy. If anyone walked by they would simply think it was two teenagers with a creepy fetich for death getting it on. But right now all Kurt could worry about was the way Blaine's knee was delivering more pressure against his crotch, and his cheeks were probably a thick scarlet.
"'S that all you got?" Kurt finally got out, the word tumbling awkwardly from his mouth, but they were received with an amused laugh from the vampire. Kurt rolled his eyes again, not here for getting friendly or anything.
Kurt was just about to make a snarky remark about how he was even more bored now than walking around the cemetery when all the monsters had called it an early night, but then his jaw was clasped between two strong fingers and his face was turned with force so their eyes locked, and this time Blaine's were without a doubt pitch black.
"Can't keep up, Slayer?" He growled, and clasped their lips together, moving with almost violence and all Kurt could do was dig his fingers harder into Blaine's shoulders as he fell into the kiss face first, chills running down his spine by the cold from the other's lips and gooseflesh spreading over his skin from the rush it sent through his nerves.
Soon Kurt found himself pressing his crotch against the knee between his legs, searching for the friction, begging for more. His brain seemed to fog over, and Blaine wasn't holding him there any longer, Kurt was staying there by his own free will, needing more. His one hand slid up, cupping the back of Blaine's neck, guiding him to not let the kiss end prematurely, even if it meant that Kurt was almost out of air.
Catching Kurt completely off guard Blaine practically flew back from one second to the other, leaving Kurt against the wall as he was standing a good couple of feet from him.
"Go home, Slayer," he snarled, and Kurt couldn't help but just stare confused at him. Without releasing his eyes from Blaine's Kurt slid down to grab his stake from the wet grass, watching as Blaine slowly transformed more and more menacing in front of him, and Kurt knew that this was how it really was supposed to be between them – hunter versus monster.
"Kurt! Leave!" Blaine yelled, his voice now a growl, and every instinct inside of Kurt told him to attack, to kill, to turn to dust – but he ran. As fast as he could, down the street until his lungs felt like they were filled with needles, and his eyes were watering. His legs were screaming for a break, but he didn't stop until he reached his house, crawling up the ladder and into his window so his dad wouldn't find out he had been out.
Safely inside his house where he knew Blaine wasn't invited, Kurt fell on his bed, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He should be terrified, and he should be angry with himself for not having done his duty. But all he could bring himself to do was close his eyes and rolls his lips into his mouth, trying to recall the sweetness of Blaine's lips that should repulse him, but all he could find in himself was craving for more.