just spike with an so who loves to tempt him- accidentally cutting her finger, scraping her knee, biting her lip a tad to hard all because she wants to see him lose his composure.
babe you're soooo right omg ok. yes. wait lemme think. uhh i'll hit that cw blood kink/vampire shit/purity kink/light sacrilege for ya (also 18+, f!reader, the usual)
it just seems like you're clumsy, right? little pet, always tripping and skinning your knee. scraping raw patches onto your palms. spike smells it, 'course he does, that sweetbitter sting in the air, fresh blood. he smells it like a shark smells dinner. he'll hear you hiss under your breath and see the dots of red prick up under your skin, and he'll feel himself salivating.
you'll wipe the dirt off your hands and when you look up at him, you'll frown. and spike won't realize til later that his face changed. went all vamp on you. he didn't mean to but really, love, you just smell so good.
and oh dear, it keeps happening.
you turn the page in an old book and the edge of the paper slices through the pad of your finger. such an innocuous weapon, and yet your face crinkles up like it actually hurts. humans, really, how do they survive? but maybe it's just you, his precious little doll, always breaking into pieces. you make yourself bleed on paper for fuck's sake. you hold your hand up to check and spike's next to you so he sees the pale streak of the cut before blood wells up underneath.
all dark and shiny. it's just a little but spike can almost taste it, the smell is so rich. he's off the human stuff (butcher's blood only, wifey's orders) and anything less than the best really isn't the same. he's never tasted yours but it must be like...well, there isn't any comparison, is there? blood isn't just food for a vampire. it's life, it's death, it's everything human, everything he wants, everything he wants to destroy, except he never wants it to end...
well, maybe there is a comparison. maybe that's how it feels when he's inside you, when your cunt is squeezing him like a vice, trying to suck him dry, when you're crying and whining and seizing up and shaking underneath him, so close to breaking (not that he'd let you) and yet you're still begging him to fuck me harder, please spike! please!
maybe you could understand. a bit. spike just wants to know how it tastes, just once, just a little taste. he can control himself. just once?
spike opens his mouth to ask but you open yours too and pop your finger in, licking the papercut clean yourself.
he swallows. "imitating the undead now, are we? you know, if you wanted to be a vampire, all you had to do was ask nicely."
"don't be jealous," you say absently, still thumbing through the book even though you should be paying attention, you should see the way spike's looking at you, like he wants to eat you alive, like you're the pure light of the sun and he wants to burn under you.
he is jealous. jealous of the taste of blood in your mouth. jealous that your lips, your tongue, were wrapped around your own finger and not put to more productive use. spike moves a bit behind you, places his hands on the table in front of you on either side of your hips and fits himself to your back. "how's it taste, then, pet?"
"...i don't know. like copper?"
"pearls before swine," spike tells you, all of that arrogance tempered in affection, and now you turn around. he kisses you. feels that shimmer of purifying sunlight prickling where his mouth touches yours, a metaphor for good against evil that would seem nauseatingly poetic if it weren't also true.
but he doesn't taste the blood. and he wants to.
the next time, it's your lip. and you must've known he couldn't help it then, yes? you underneath, back flush against the bedsheets, rocking back and forth when spike fucks into you; your legs on his shoulders, your hands pinned under the weight of his; this place where he feels paradoxically closest to both god and the devil: your bed your body your skin your cunt.
you're whimpering, stuttering out his name the best you can. such a little fighter, you take it so well. "good," he laughs, euphoric, rapturous, the chain around his neck almost touching your bare chest as he leans in to lay his weight down on you. "so loud, love. let me hear you cum on my cock."
and then because you're so terribly disobedient, you pout. turn your head to the side and bite your lip—til it bleeds.
spike's only a few inches from you. that smell. he wants to live inside it, inside you. he's already concentrating on keeping his face human but now it's harder—every instinct in his body (above the belt, at least) is telling him to make you bleed, more more more. taste it taste it. he wants this like he wants you, all of you, wants to be bleached clean in your virtue and stained red in your sin.
but he just needs a little. just that one taste. spike leans in and licks over that stripe of blood dyeing your mouth red and feels it, the searing light of you, closing around him and making him—well, maybe not good, he'll never be good. but he's yours, and he would choose that over paradise.
