Title: The Rhythm Of This Trembling Heart
Rating:light NC-17
Word Count: ~3000
Warning: Vampires, mentions of bloodplay
Spoilers: Vague character spoilers up to 3x04
Summary: Vampire!AU. “Halloween parties are just so silly,” Kurt says emphatically, throwing his hands up in the air. “Why would I go to a Halloween party when my entire life is one giant Monster Mash?” A bit of fang slips over his lip, but he quickly retracts it.
Author’s Note:: Title from “Love Song for a Vampire” by Annie Lennox. Written for the Porn Corner’s Halloween Theme. Just something quick and fun to get in the Halloween mood. ;) Thanks to Lydia and Odd for the help!



“I don’t understand why you even want to go,” Kurt says simply, not bothering to look up from filing his nails. “Halloween parties are just excuses for people to dress in revealing clothing and get away with it.”

Blaine scooches closer, plucking the nail file from Kurt’s hand and setting it on the table before grabbing Kurt’s fingers in his own. “Come on, Kurt,” he says, gently squeezing. “We haven’t been to a New Directions party since Rachel’s Trainwreck Extravaganza-”

“For good reason,” Kurt interrupts under his breath.

“-and it will be a good break for both of us. You’ve been busy with college applications, I’ve been busy studying for the SAT,” he finishes. “We need a break.”

“Halloween parties are just so silly,” Kurt says emphatically, throwing his hands up in the air. “Why would I go to a Halloween party when my entire life is one giant Monster Mash?” A bit of fang slips over his lip, but he quickly retracts it. It’s just habit, at this point.

Blaine is well aware of his vampiric status, as is the rest of New Directions. How he goes to high school simply to stave off the boredom that comes from being alive for centuries, how Burt Hummel is considered his father by vampire standards but his biological father died lifetimes ago, how he hasn’t fallen off the wagon and drawn blood from a human (well, without their consent, of course) in thirty seven years. But the rest of small town Lima, Ohio doesn’t know any of that, so Kurt tends to keep things like his fangs and his eyes in check.

“If you really don’t want to go, we don’t have to,” Blaine says sadly, “but I already picked out a costume.”

Blaine pouts. Kurt sighs.

“Fine, Blaine. But it better not be a werewolf costume. I’m not getting into some weird Twilight roleplay, no matter how much I love you.”

Blaine chuckles, but his grin stretches nearly from ear to ear. “No, I think you’ll like it,” he says with a wink. Cheeky bastard. “Besides, you can’t come as a vampire. That’s cheating.”

“Well what do I wear, then? This is kind of last minute, Blaine.”

“Just wear your ‘I’m a normal human, I swear’ costume,” he says, voice full of mirth. “You do a pretty good job with that one every day.”

---

Unfortunately, there’s nothing in the combined Hudson-Hummel house that Kurt can scrape together for an elaborate costume. He had delusions that there’d magically be all the makings of a Mister Mistoffelees outfit tucked away in his closet, but no such luck.

As a last resort, he decides to go with Blaine’s suggestion, though it’s a far cry from what Kurt Hummel normally wears when he tries to blend in. Well, blend in while still standing out. Just because most of the pathetic humans walking around don’t understand fashion, doesn’t mean he has to dress like a hooligan in order to pretend to be one of them. He misses the days of cravats and breeches.

He can feel the poly-blend sinking into his skin as he slides one of Finn’s old football jerseys over his head, and Kurt cringes as it clings to his body in the most unattractive of ways. While he’s certainly had a growth spurt over the last couple of years, Finn still has a good five or six inches on him. The jersey hangs on him like a dress. Sighing, Kurt snips indentations in the side, slits in the fabric that he then ties together to tighten the material. He hacks seven inches off the bottom and if he had time he’d rouche it or add a bit of elastic, but there isn’t enough time so he allows the bottom to loosely hang at his midriff. He slides into a pair of skinny jeans because he is not about to wear gym shorts, and throws on a ratty old pair of Converse that he saves for outdoor activities.

On his way out the door he picks up one of Finn’s baseball caps in his hand. He toys with it briefly, turning it this way and that, before wrinkling his nose and hissing at it, bypassing it entirely. As a final touch he grabs the grey McKinley High hoodie the nurse had given him one day when the administration had deemed one of his corsets out of dress code. It’s hideous and smells like lockers, but it will have to do.

---

Kurt pulls up to the address Blaine texted him earlier, frowning as he parks in front of the simple white two-story house. He’d always assumed Brittany lived in a Barbie Dream House. The real thing is a bit of a let-down, though there is a pink convertible out front that appeases him for the time being.

Brittany greets him at the door, Rory tucked under her arm. He’s dressed like a lepcrechaun, as if anyone could forget for a second that he’s Irish. Kurt lived in Ireland for a while himself, but he doesn’t feel the need to prance around in green leggings and dive into pots of gold. Maybe things have changed since he last visited.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Brittany asks, squishing Kurt into a hug. She’s dressed as a cat-- a costume she’s worn four years running. People don’t seem to mind, though, if Puck’s downright leering (and from a Spartan costume, no less) is any indication.

“I’m Finn, shrunk in the wash,” Kurt says dryly as he extracts himself from Brittany’s grip.

“Blaine got here a few minutes ago,” Brittany says, looking at a point directly to the left of Kurt’s head. He turns, but there’s nothing there. “He’s probably upstairs with Lord Tubbington.” She leans in closer to his ear, whispering, “Lord Tubbington gets awful lonely without stimulating conversation.”

“Thank you, Brittany,” Kurt says with a half-laugh, half-grimace. “I’ll check upstairs.”

“No need,” drifts Blaine’s voice down the stairs-- with a bit of a lisp?

Kurt turns to look up the staircase, and--oh. Oh my God. He freezes, too still to pass as human, forgetting to make his chest rise and fall in the phantom act of breathing.

The first thing Kurt notices is the teeth. They’re cheap, plastic things probably won out of a gumball machine if Kurt knows anything about his boyfriend. In retrospect he’s not sure why those caught his attention first, though he hisses and bares his fangs a bit at the sight of them, because the rest of Blaine’s outfit isn’t any better. Camel colored breeches tucked into riding boots. A flowing white v-neck shirt underneath a blue and gold vest. Fake blood, or fruit punch, or cherry Jello, or something dripping from the side of Blaine’s mouth.

It’s stupidly attractive.

“So, what do you think?” Blaine asks when he reaches the foot of the stairs, quirking his head sideways as he grins, gesturing to his outfit in such a way that his cape billows out behind him, and-- a cape? Really? Capes went out of style centuries ago. Kurt wishes they would make a comeback, but this isn’t really what he had in mind.

“At least you’re not sparkling,” is all Kurt manages to say.

Blaine laughs and envelops him in a hug, cape swirling around them both.

“I don’t get how our costumes are themed,” Kurt says, breathing into the warm skin of Blaine’s neck. He may look like Lestat, but he still smells warm and human and delicious.

“Isn’t it obvious, Kurt?” Blaine asks. He breaks from the hug and twirls. “I’m a vampire and you’re my hot, unsuspecting teenage boyfriend.”

Kurt quirks an eyebrow. “I don’t know how I can be ‘unsuspecting’ when you look like Tom Cruise in Interview With a Vampire. Subtlety is not your strong suit, Blaine.”

“Your obliviousness is the most charming thing about you, my human boy-toy,” Blaine says with a wink, spinning them around and pushing Kurt gently toward the dance floor. He slides up closer, presses his hand underneath Kurt’s sweatshirt and groans when his palm comes in contact with cool, bare skin. Blaine practically rips Kurt out of the hoodie and tosses it unceremoniously on the floor. His eyes rake over Kurt’s exposed skin, and Kurt fidgets under the attention. “Other than your blood, of course,” Blaine adds softly as he runs the back of his palm down Kurt’s cheek to the side of his neck.

Kurt’s hips buck a little into the empty air.

Fuck

---

Kurt slides into the driver’s seat of the Navigator with ease as Blaine fumbles with the door handle on the passenger side, eventually wrenching it open and flopping into the seat. Somehow he manages to buckle his seatbelt and turns to Kurt with a sickeningly adorable grin. Kurt rolls his eyes and ignores him.

He’d offered to drive Blaine home since Blaine was more than a little bit tipsy and Kurt hadn’t felt like drinking. Alcohol loses its appeal when you have to hack it back up later since it doesn’t digest properly. The original plan had been to spend the night at Brittany’s house, but Kurt thought he could hear Santana and Brittany doing unmentionable things upstairs, and Blaine accidentally walked in on more than he’d ever wanted to see of Tina and Mike in the laundry room (though he’d called Kurt over later because while they both loved each other very much, Mike’s abs were a different story entirely).

Blaine flops an arm on to Kurt’s shoulder and rubs the bare skin, slipping his fingers underneath the polyester jersey. “I don’t know why you’re with me,” Blaine says, and Kurt frowns as his grip tightens on the steering wheel. He hears the leather start to groan, so he unclenches his fingers a bit. Blaine continues, “I’m so much older than you, so much more experienced. I don’t want to corrupt your youth and innocence.”

“What?” Kurt asks. His frown deepens, though this time in confusion.

Blaine crowds over into his space as far as the seatbelt and armrest will allow. “You know. I’ve lived for centuries, Kurt.”

“I don’t know what you’re-“

“Just play along,” Blaine pleads, eyes large and round, and Kurt gets it. Unfortunately.

Kurt rolls his eyes, taking them off the road to glare at Blaine. “Are you really trying to-“ he starts, but Blaine’s pouting-- fucking pouting-- so Kurt sighs and rolls with it. “Fine, Blaine, my oh so handsome and mysterious boyfriend.”

“That’s right,” Blaine practically purrs. “I was always concerned about besmirching your virtue.”

And that’s just stupid, because Kurt had said no such thing to Blaine when they’d first started fooling around. He was a little concerned about the whole vampire thing coming into play, but he knows he never said anything about ‘besmirching Blaine’s virtue’. In fact, Blaine had been the one to put his hand down Kurt’s pants first. At this point, there was nothing left to corrupt between them.

Even then, though, Kurt can’t help but notice Blaine’s words were in past tense.

“But now?” Kurt asks softly. He licks over his fangs.

“But now I just want to know how you taste,” Blaine says, voice twisting on a groan. “You just smell so good, Kurt, fuck. I’ll bet you taste delicious.”

The car slams to a stop on the side of the road as Kurt unbuckles his seatbelt and Blaine’s in one swift motion. He hauls the shorter boy on top of him, falling backwards into the backseat of the Navigator. The tentative grasp on any sort of roleplay they have shatters as Kurt pulls them far too quickly for human speed, but it doesn’t matter because Blaine settles heavily on top of Kurt and it’s good. Really good.

Kurt starts mouthing at Blaine’s neck-- his favorite spot. He can feel Blaine’s pulse under his lips, heart thrumming quickly, blood buzzing underneath Blaine’s skin. It’s heady and intoxicating, and Kurt licks a thick, wide stripe up the length of Blaine’s jugular before Blaine pulls away. Kurt whines then, shamelessly, craning his head forward to try and taste Blaine’s skin again.

But Blaine is in charge of the show tonight, apparently. Blaine grins, exposing his cheap, plastic fangs to the light, and it looks dumb but Kurt’s hips still twist upwards as Blaine leans down to nuzzle into Kurt’s neck.

Everything is upside down and backwards, and Kurt can’t do anything but hold on. It’s new, being in this position. Usually he’s on top, body pressing down into Blaine’s, rolling their hips together, controlling everything. Kurt likes it, likes being the one to set the pace and feed on Blaine’s sighs and moans when he gets something right. This, though. There’s something to be said for submitting, for letting Blaine lap at the skin of his neck until it warms beneath Blaine’s tongue. Kurt groans, stretching his neck to the side to allow Blaine more access, and Blaine muffles a whine against Kurt’s skin.

Blaine’s hands are planted on either side of Kurt’s chest, giving him leverage as he rolls his hips forward, so Kurt slides his hands around the small of Blaine’s back and tugs him down to create more friction. He can feel Blaine’s cock through those unsightly camel breeches, and it’s hard and hot and Kurt hears himself whine simply at the feel of it. He tries to buck his hips, grasp tightly to Blaine’s back, but Blaine picks his hands up from either side of Kurt’s hips. Blaine leans back a bit on his haunches as he grabs Kurt’s wrists in his hands, pulls them up and over Kurt’s head, presses them down onto the leather seat behind them.

Kurt knows he can easily break Blaine’s grasp-- possibly break his wrists, actually, but that’s a bit morbid-- but Blaine is hot against him and Kurt hates to admit it, but he kind of likes it. He likes Blaine holding him down, forcing their bodies together with nothing but friction and gravity. Kurt bucks up and their hips align perfectly; Kurt’s dick rubs against Blaine’s as Blaine sucks and swirls a mark into the crease of Kurt’s neck.

Blaine rocks his hips harder, swiveling, as he noses his way up to Kurt’s ear. “You look beautiful like this,” he says, tongue flicking against Kurt’s skin with the words. “So vulnerable. Warm and young and delicious.” The last word is nothing more than a purr, and Kurt whimpers as he struggles lightly against Blaine’s hold.

“You smell so good, baby,” Blaine continues, hot breath washing over Kurt’s ear, nose tickling the fine hairs near his temple. “Bet you taste good, too. Want to bite you,” Blaine adds, and Kurt’s entire body hauls upwards like a well-strung bow. He hadn’t thought about it before, but fuck if that image isn’t perfect, Blaine’s teeth sinking into him, warm blood pulsing around, eyes darkening with the thrill of the hunt and the capture. It’s the most human Kurt has felt in ages.

Blaine’s mouth slides down leaving hot, bruising kisses along the juncture of Kurt’s neck and jaw. “I want you so bad,” Blaine whines, rocking his hips again. “Want to claim you. Want to suck you. Want you to stake me with your cock.”

And Kurt would pull back and completely end everything, boner properly ruined because Blaine has a habit of blurting out the dumbest things in bed like a fucking idiot, but he’s so close and Blaine punctuates his stupid, idiotic words with another roll of his hips and Kurt forgets all about it. Instead, he meets Blaine’s thrust, arching his neck.

“Fuck, Blaine,” Kurt whines, sliding his body as far as he can, trying to align their cocks again for that sweet friction. “I never thought it could be like this.”

That’s what tips Blaine over the edge. He comes, jolting his hips hard against Kurt once, twice, before he sinks the cheap, plastic fangs into the side of Kurt’s neck. It should be stupid. Kurt knows it should be, because they’re cheap and slip a little and the whole idea is dumb as all get-out, but fuck. Being bitten. Kurt hasn’t felt that in hundreds of years, the rush of being claimed and owned and cherished and loved.

He comes with a howl, thrusting upwards in large spasms as his entire body shakes with the effort. It takes him ages to come down, panting harshly and practically vibrating, but Blaine coddles him through it with strokes through his hair and gentle whispers in his ear.

He finally comes back to himself with Blaine mouthing at his hair, and Kurt leans up and twists to capture Blaine’s lips with his own. It’s chaste, sweet, a gentle press of lips before Blaine pulls back with a breathless giggle.

“I had no idea you’d be so in to biting,” Blaine says with a grin, and Kurt huffs at him, breath unsettling one of Blaine’s already unruly curls. “Well, from the receiving side, at least.”

Blaine looks smug-- too smug-- and Kurt resolves to wipe that look from his face as quickly as possible. It’s annoyingly endearing. Kurt grips Blaine’s forearms and flips them easily, getting Blaine underneath him and settling on top as their bodies slot together in a well-practiced motion. He starts working at the ungodly laces at the front of Blaine’s pants. Blaine is a little oversensitive, must be as he jerks into Kurt’s touch, but he doesn’t push Kurt away. Instead, Blaine draws him closer.

Kurt’s cock tries its best to get hard again so quickly. It has to, to keep up with his virile, impressionable, warm human boyfriend-- and okay, maybe Kurt can see the appeal of all that now.

Kurt grins as he grips Blaine’s wrists, slamming them to the boy’s sides. “Let me show you how much I like biting,” he says. There’s a flash of fang-- a long moment where white stands out against the kiss-bruised red of his lips-- as Blaine groans and cants his hips into Kurt’s knee. Kurt licks his lips and leans down eagerly, familiarly, to press his teeth against the warm, pulsing skin of Blaine’s neck.