Disclaimer: Nope, this is still not mine. Not In the slightest. I'm just borrowing the characters to play with them for awhile. I'll put them back when I'm done and they'll be thoroughly mishandled. All I own is the concept for Baby Grands.

A Brief Author's Note: I've come to a new prompt table in the LiveJournal community 10_prompts. Say hello to Table 4! This one, I warn you, is about bloodplay. There's no explicit sex, but I'm going to give it an M-rating for the same reason as "Tender".

1 - Blood

The Hatter barely noticed it much anymore when he made himself bleed - it was just part of the trade, after all. His tools could be such recalcitrant little buggers! Hatpins had a peculiar affinity for sticking into almost anything but what they were supposed to, particularly fingertips. His beloved shears slipped on occasion. The rare craft knife sometimes did more than graze unprotected skin. While working, he tended to ignore anything that wasn't going to drip on his projects. Afterwards, he either bandaged things himself or Alice came to do it for him. But it wasn't something he tended to focus terribly on.

Alice, on the other hand, found herself fascinated by it.

Outside, a thunderstorm raged, the kind with thunderclaps that sounded right over the castle and flung hailstones at the windows. Lightning strikes lit up a sky obscured by freezing rain and angry clouds. The Tall-flowers shrieked and tried to duck away from the falling ice. Anyone unlucky enough to be caught outside quickly ran for the nearest immediate shelter. Animals protected themselves from the unfortunate weather in whatever manner they could.

And inside, Tarrant curled into Alice's arms, having another mad episode – one of the worst he could remember in quite some time. Normally, Alice proved a rock of stability for him, but a thunder phobia that lingered from her childhood had turned her into a shaking wreck as well. The two held each other as best they could, protective instincts dead even with fear and madness. Tarrant had Alice pressed against him with one arm 'round her, his face hidden in her neck with her hand threaded into his hair. Alice tried her best to whisper words of comfort in his ear, but squeaked every time the cannonade of thunder exploded overhead.

Neither of them could say when, but his hand crept into his pocket and located his sharpest craft knife – little more than a razor blade in a handsome wooden handle. With his eyes wide, feeling that bite of internal need, he pulled his lover back and pressed the instrument into her hand. She swallowed hard and nodded in painful understanding. Her free hand, she slid under his chin, kissing him gently as his bandaged fingers undid his shirt-buttons. She knew what he needed and, though she could not claim herself completely used to it, did not feel the usual burgeoning sickness.

"Lie back," she instructed in a low, breathy voice she barely recognized as her own.

Those wide, staring eyes turned the odd violet colour that occurred when one mixed true red with green, almost like theatre lighting. Tarrant did as she said, leaning into Alice's pillows, not quite back entirely, so that he could brace his hands against the bed. He clenched his teeth as once again, thunder ripped the sky apart with lightning on its tail. Alice's lips caressed his cheek as she reassured him before pulling back for the sake of concentration. The blade's edge kissed his skin just as tenderly, not even scratching the pale surface yet. He tried his best not to writhe as she repeated the light touch.

Alice braced herself, never able to truly prepare for this part, and applied slight pressure – just enough to slice in and barely draw blood. The liquid redness oozed up from the small cut and Tarrant groaned aloud, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. His lover smiled, a peculiar expression, thinking of how much he must trust her. Apparently though, her pause had been too long, because he took her hand in his and pulled the blade back to his chest.

"Again?" she asked, still in that odd voice, tracing his pale skin with the tip of the blade.

"Please," he growled hoarsely.

He gasped as she swiped the blade over his skin once more. The need in his voice did not escape her notice, nor did the tenting in the front of his trousers. Blood flowed more quickly from this new slice, about an inch long. Alice sat back on her heels, watching the small red trail course down his skin and, on impulse, kissed it away. The taste certainly wasn't bad, but something inside of her twisted at the wrongness of the situation. She did this only because he needed it – not because she enjoyed it! Tarrant, for his part, nearly came undone at seeing his dear Alice's lips coated thusly.

"Just once more... please love," he coaxed, fear almost edged out by intense want.

Alice shook her head.

"No," she breathed.

His eyes turned crimson – now was not the time to play with him and she knew it! A soft smile momentarily placated him as she took his hand and pressed the wooden handle into it. For a moment, his countenance darkened in question. What in the world did she want from him in this state? Alice did not have to think about it, just brought his hand to her chest, pushing the neckline of her nightie aside. She took a deep breath as the metal, warm from him, touched her skin for the first time.

"Your turn," she whispered as she nicked herself on purpose, biting back a gasp.

With her eyes closed, she couldn't see how his, the same colour as her blood, watched the tiny drop fall, but she certainly felt his lips come to capture it... His hands were considerably more practiced at this sort of thing than hers and she shivered at the thought. She paused long enough to pull her nightgown off and fling it in a corner, and then his hands were on her. One arm cradled her while the other guided the blade between her breasts. Her eyes fell half-closed as she watched small droplets of blood spring up there. Looking up, she found his eyes locked on hers in deep concern mixed with want. As their lips met, Tarrant could only think of how erotic it was – tasting his blood on her lips, the storm forgotten.