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Summary: Dean is a broken man who is plagued not only by memories of the horrific things he's done, but also by lingering dark needs that he can't control. For him, there is no hope, until he meets the vampire Spike under circumstances that could finish them both.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Supernatural > Spike-Centered(Past Donor)CasFR1819157,38473014,40627 Jan 1127 Oct 12Yes

Chapter 9

Dean quickly mastered how long it took to heat the blood to get it close to body temperature and since everything was in cups, and the desk clerk was reading a magazine, he wasn't paid any mind. Carrying the cups using a box top as a tray, he made his way back to the motel room in short order. Opening the door, he saw Spike was still neatly tied up. After shutting the door he paused, admiring Spike's body and finding his cock twitching at seeing Spike spread eagle like he was. He swallowed back the groan. This wasn't the time.

Dean set the tray of cups beside the TV to keep as much of the scent away from Spike as possible. He pulled out the bag of straws he bought, popped the lid on the first cup, and put the straw down in it. After a moment of hesitation, he stripped his shirt off, and then walked over to Spike with the blood.

"Okay, let's try this one first," Dean said and put the bendy straw's tip close to Spike's mouth.

"If Buffy weren't alive, I'd say you're Buffy reincarnated," Spike grumbled, remembering being tied up by her and being fed the same way, through a straw.

The scent of the blood hit him. He focused on Dean, his gaze sliding down from that handsome face, to his throat and bare, muscled chest. As his lips wrapped around the straw, he imagined they were latching over Dean's nipple instead.

"I hope that's a compliment and you're not calling me a bubblegum smacking chick again," Dean said, giving him a suspicious look.

Two sucks, that was as far as Spike got before he pulled back, gagging on the pungent liquid. "Don't want it. Take it away, I'm done... Sod it all, I don't want it," he yelled when Dean didn't pull it away from him fast enough.

"Spike, calm down!" Dean told him sharply. "I'm not gonna force it down you. Take a couple deep breaths or whatever." Dean walked over to beside the TV and marked an 'x' on the cup. "Okay, that's a big fucking 'no' if ever I've heard one." He grabbed a fresh beer, put a fresh straw in it, and took it over to his tied-up lover. "Drink this, get the taste out of your mouth. We'll try another in a minute." He ran his hand through Spike's hair. "You did good. You at least got two sips down. That's all I'm asking, is for you just to try each one, no matter how rank, okay? I'll make it worth your while in the end, promise."

Dean felt both disappointment and worry. What the hell were they going to do if Spike had a reaction like that to everything he had brought? Then he'll just have to drink human blood, and learn to control his bloodlust, Dean told himself. Maybe one of them would be more tolerable than another. If he could find at least one that Spike didn't immediately gag on, a little human blood mixed in might be enough to allow him to drink it. C'mon, God, I'm gonna be pissed as hell if you put him in my life only to make me have to kill him. Gimme some fucking help here. Thinking back to Madison and Sam, he snorted softly. Yeah like God gave a shit about the Winchesters. So long as they did whatever task God wanted, God didn't care. Give them a small bag of treats to tempt them, to remind them life wasn't one big sewer of stinking crap, then when they'd barely had but a few of those treats, steal that bag away, pat 'em on the head like good dogs, and tell them to get their asses back to work. And I wonder how much work for God I can do if I'm a bloodlust filled vamp. If they can fix me, take it away, then they can do the god-damned same for Spike. If not, they can just kill us both.

Spike drank and drank, draining half the bottle even through the narrow straw before he lifted his head. The look in Dean's eyes hit him in the gut, made him wish he could force the blood down his throat if only to satisfy the hunter. "I can't," he said distinctly. "I don't want any more, any other kind... it's all the same. Not just nausea. Feels like... like it's fighting what's in me, the blood in me. Please, don't make me." He brushed his face against Dean's hand, still holding the bottle. "Tomorrow, I'll hit a blood bank. I'll take care of this." He wasn't sure his reaction to blood from a blood bank would be any different than to blood from a dead animal, but he'd try, and if that failed, he'd go after the criminal element or blood dolls. Dean didn't have to know. The hunter was unlikely to tolerate that. "I'll take care of it."

"Like it's fighting...?" Dean said. After a moment he shut his eyes. "The blood. All of it was taken after the animals were already dead. Deadman's blood, just the animal version of it. Doesn't paralyze you, but makes you sick." Dean sat down on the bed at Spike's side and took his hand. "Lenore and her nest, as far as I know they only took live kills, draining cows in the fields. The blood dealers, either they sell to your type of vamp, or they can drink blood in a bag so long as it's taken from a living donor. The dog and cat blood I got, there isn't very much of either, but the animals were living when it was taken. Will you try one of them? There's not much more than a swallow of either one. See if it twists you up inside like the other blood does? I won't ask you to try any more of the blood after that, I promise." Squeezing Spike's hand, he added, "And I'll give you some of mine to drink afterward. You're tied up, I can have a deadman's blood-coated dagger at your side. And I'd kinda rather have you here and tied up the next time you drink human blood, not at some blood bank where you try it and decide you want your donor to be walking around instead of out of a bag." His eyes begging Spike he asked, "Will you try, for me?"

Spike turned his head but couldn't touch Dean's hand or arm with it since his own hands were tied above his head and that's where Dean's hand was at the moment. He had a good view of Dean's wrist though, real good. Prominent blue veins with blood rushing through them had his rapt attention. He knew a swallow or two would take the disgust and pain away. Maybe it would bring with it another sort of painful craving, but it beat feeling like this. The rational part of his mind struggled to reestablish control over his thoughts, reminding him that with the hunger came the possibility of hurting Dean. Finally, he spoke through clenched teeth. "You're such a bloody tease, even when you don't know it." There was silence. The hunter was waiting for his answer. "Don't want cat."

"Okay, dog it is." Dean went over to the box, opened one of the cups and pulled out a vial. There were probably about two thimblefuls of blood in it. He popped off the lid. "Not enough for a straw. Took a lot of sweet talking on my part to get the vet assistant to get me blood from a cat and a dog that they were running tests on. Course they couldn't get much from either, but I figured even a small sample to try was worth the effort."

Dean moved to Spike's side and put the vial to his lips, up-ending the small swallow into Spike's mouth. He bit his lip as he waited and watched. "Well?" he finally asked.

It was a small amount, less than a full swallow. Spike thought he could take it, not matter what it was like. He was wrong.

His entire body suddenly seized up with tremors. "De..." They were so strong, his teeth knocked together and he had to grit them together. His head lifted off the pillow and he fell back over and over, his chest and body also rising off the mattress as far as he could go given the bindings held him down. Eyes rolling back into his head, he tried to speak but the words were unintelligible, all but the word 'no.'

"Spike!" Dean tossed the vial aside and put his hands on the seizing vampire's shoulders. "It'll be okay. I'll take care of you. I'll give you what you need."

Dean got the deadman's blood out and retrieved the knife from the wall, dipping it into the blood, then putting the lid on the jar and making sure to get it out of Spike's reach in case something went wrong. Something's already gone wrong, Dean chastised himself. Taking another knife, he made a cut about an inch back from his wrist. He held his wrist up above Spike's mouth, keeping it well out of range, but letting his blood drip onto Spike's lips. "Human blood, Spike, taste it."

A few drops of Dean's blood slid down his tongue and it was like a veil lifting from his eyes. The uncontrollable shaking stopped and so did the pain. He opened his mouth wider, licking his lips clean and greedily taking more. It was sweet and spicy and human; it was Dean. Memories of feeding from Dean during sex struck him full force and had him groaning. His entire body reacted, his cock hardening just like that. His teeth ached, but he kept them retracted, swallowing as much as he could. "Wrist... give it to me," he demanded, again licking his lips clean. "Won't bite... give it to me, please... sodding hell, just give it to me."

Dean hesitated, then lowered his wrist for Spike to drink. He had planned on putting blood in a cup for Spike, for safety's sake, until the vampire had started seizing. He held the blade coated with deadman's blood at Spike's ribs, ready in case Spike went overboard and did bite. "You bite, you're back to not being able to move for an hour," Dean cautioned him. He still couldn't help but wonder if this wasn't damned foolish. It probably was but he'd certainly done stupider things in his life. Like letting Spike bite him in the throat while they were making love.
Nodding his understanding, Spike eagerly closed his mouth around Dean's wound and closed his eyes as he drank. He was hungry, so hungry that it hurt not to allow his fangs to extend and to drink slowly, rather than making the wound bigger and forcing Dean's blood to come faster. But it was satisfying too, it transported him to a place of peace, where he could listen to the sound of Dean's heart, feel his pulse against his mouth, drink his essence, and make him a part of himself. The only way he could feel closer was if they were having sex. He drank a little more, then pulled off, opening his eyes and locking them with Dean's.

"Thank you. Better. And no bloodlust," Spike stated the obvious.

Dean didn't relax until Spike stopped sucking at the wound. He set the blood coated knife aside and stroked Spike's face. He heard his own stomach growling. "Yeah. That's good. You think if you stay well fed, you'll be okay? Did it feel like you wanted to go into bloodlust?" Dean asked. He let the blood from his arm continue to drip into Spike's mouth. He didn't want to leave Spike's side yet but he was going to have to get it bandaged soon.

"No, was alright. Like when we had sex. In control. It's worse, isn't it? That it's unpredictable?" He searched Dean's face. "Go, bandage yourself, eat. I'll be alright. Wish I had my wanking hand," he muttered, catching a few more drops and licking them off his lips.

"Being unpredictable isn't swell, no. Can't have you roaming around and going nutso when you smell blood and lose it." Dean wrapped his hand around the seeping wound. Like when they had sex...maybe they'd be able to do that again. He wanted to, he definitely wanted to. "Your wanking hand? What is a wanking hand?" Dean asked as he headed into the bathroom to wash his cut. With a raised eyebrow he saw Spike's erection, cum leaking from its head. It wasn't just a hard on, it was a full fledged big-as-shit erection. Spike hadn't been in that condition before he had Dean's blood.

Staring back, Spike answered. "You're a smart hunter, I'm sure you'll have that one figured out. But if you're really curious, feel free to sit on my lap, yeah? And mind the pole." He let his eyes close as he thought about how he'd fucked Dean, his own personal porn playing in his head.

Staring at Spike's erection, both his eyebrows went up. "Huh. My new word for the day. 'Wanking.' So drinking blood has that effect on you? Or just my blood?" Dean asked as he patted dry his wound then bandaged it. He felt bad for Spike, but dammit, he at least wanted to get the charcoal going so he could get his dinner cooked. Once the charcoal was going, then he could tend to Spike's needs.

"Just yours. You taste ... right, you taste just like you look," he said, changing his mind on trying to explain. "You know what your looks do to me, and no need to get smug about it," Spike added, knowing the hunter would anyway. "It can't be news to you."

"I seem to recall you saying I taste like pink ribbons and bubblegum," Dean said. "Besides I thought it was my charming personality that got you hot and bothered. Don't objectify me," he told the vampire. "Even if I am damned adorable," he finished with a grin.

Walking over to Spike, he leaned down and gave him a teasing kiss. "Let me get my charcoal burning, then I'll see what I can do about the other little fire I started." An evil look filled his eyes and he turned to Spike's cock. He ran his tongue over the tip, licking away the pearly bead. "Be back in a minute," he tossed over his shoulder as he headed out to his car to retrieve the charcoal.

"Hunter!" Spike shouted at him at the top of his lungs, not caring what they thought next door. He looked down at his cock and started to utter one oath after another. "If you've never been to a bondage club or had a pet, I can tell you you're a natural," he said, his gaze following Dean, once the hunter returned and walked out of the sliding glass doors to start his barbecue. "Just so long as you don't get used to it. I don't make a good pet. And I'm not good at staying tied up. For long." He thought about the times the Scoobs had him tied up. "Most of the time," he added, feeling very much like he was talking to himself.

Dean was humming to himself, very pleased with almost everything. Pleased Spike hadn't gone bloodlusty. Pleased he turned Spike that hard that fast. Pleased he could 'torture' Spike without actually hurting him. He lit up the charcoal and made sure it caught then came back inside. He wasn't happy that Spike seemed only able to drink human blood, but maybe if he could get a hold of Lenore, she could enlighten them as to how her nest did it. He approached the bed, going to the foot of it, his eyes raking over the beautiful pale body of the vampire. Suddenly, need welled up in him. The need to mark Spike, to hurt him in ways he didn't want to. He turned away, cursing under his breath.

Still turned away from Spike, he knew his voice was a little strained as he asked, "So, hand job or blow job?"

"You have your needs." Spike knew exactly how Dean felt. "Get the dagger from the wall, leave it on my stomach and go eat. Then we'll continue this," he said, raising his chin.

"That dagger is the one coated with deadman's blood on the nightstand," Dean said. He was silent for nearly a minute, in part as he struggled to get himself under control. He finally took a deep breath. Pulling the pocket knife he'd used on himself out, he opened it and turned, looking at Spike. He felt shame fill him. How could he want to hurt Spike? With a shaky hand, he put the open blade on the vampire's stomach. He ran his hand down Spike's chest lightly. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

Swallowing hard he went over to the ice chest and pulled out the fish and the other things he had gotten for the picnic by the lake. His stomach was twisting inside him so badly he wasn't sure he was even going to be able to eat.

Spike's eyes followed the hunter. "We're no different, Dean. I want to take. I can hurt, or I can kill in the process. I need to find control. Receiving... it's some pain, but it's got benefits, yeah? You liked it when I drank from you. If you... if you don't take too much, don't go too far, I can enjoy this," he said, looking down at the pocket knife, then at Dean. "Stay in control, and we'll both get what we want, what we need. Just thinking about what you need, look... look what you do to me," he said, his voice a little ragged.

"But would you ask for it if I wasn't so fucked in the head that the need to hurt is almost as strong as the need to breathe?" Dean asked bitterly. He set the food out and began filling his plate with coleslaw and potato salad and the other foods he had gotten. He opened the bag of potato chips and glanced out at the grill. The flames were quickly dying down. As he stared at the food on the plate, he knew he needed to eat but nothing looked appetizing. He set the plate down, nearly pitching it into the trash instead. "I'm pathetic. Even if my good looks turn you on, it doesn't change that I'm a pathetic excuse of a human being."

"Eat. For me," Spike asked, echoing Dean's earlier request. "Take a bite or two, I might want something more from you later," he added, giving Dean an incentive, knowing Dean wanted to help. "As for I would ask for it?" He gave a low laugh. "You said you can mark me, I'm all over that. Don't forget, I was one of four vampires... the Scourge of Europe. My Drusilla did not play nice and I was with her for decades, many more than you've been alive. Now eat the bloody fish and stop making me think along those lines," he practically whined.

Giving a heavy sigh, Dean knew he couldn't bring himself to refuse Spike when Spike had tried so hard for him. Even if he didn't really want to eat, he owed it to Spike. Besides, if he was going to have to feed Spike, he would need to keep up his strength. Depending on how much and how often the vampire needed to eat he might be able to keep up with Spike's blood needs. Probably not, but he would figure out something. He had to.

"Okay, I'll eat. So what's all this Scourge of Europe crap? Or should I just turn on the TV?"

"You in hell, times four, and we were playing with innocent people, not the damned," Spike answered. He'd given a lot away about his past but he knew Dean could easily find all this out for himself. Now was the time to give the hunter all the facts or it would bite him in the arse, of that he was sure.

Dean gave a slight nod, looking a little thoughtful. "You're right about us being a pair. You went from bad to good. I went the other way. Ying and yang and all that crap." He took the fish out to the grill, slapped it on, then came back in, washing his hands before returning to the small table in the room. He sat down and began to eat, starting in on a beer. "So distract me from the food I don't really want. Tell me about being the Scourge and the other three vamps you hung with."

"Wrong." Spike waited for Dean to look at him. "I went from good, to evil, to this. Wouldn't call me good, maybe not so evil. We're in the same place, hunter. Exactly the same place. If I tell you half of it, I'm not sure you'll ever be able to look me in the face again. Not sure you won't rid the world of me. Probably best to talk about it when I'm not 'tied up.'"

"Do you regret it now? What you did back then?" Dean asked, absently eating some of the food on his plate.

"Not all of it. Some did deserve what they got." Closing his eyes, he remembered the cries, the pleas. Remembered how they'd excited or bored him. Did the memories haunt him now? "Yes. It would have been better for many people if a slayer had staked me. Better for me not to have done the deeds than to try to right past wrongs, but it's all we can do."

"If you hadn't become...less evil...a lot of people would be worse off now, right?" Dean asked. "But yeah, I get it. If I told you half of what I did in Hell, I couldn't look you in the face. I can barely look at myself in a mirror." Dean's gaze roved over Spike's naked body. "It's kinda weird you know. You all stretched out, tied up, and naked, and me sitting here eating dinner. You want me to pull a sheet over you or anything? Do vampires get cold?"

"Depends. You covering me up because you want something or are you just being 'nice.'?"

A frown creased Dean's brow for a moment. "Maybe both," he said with a half shrug. He didn't see the point of lying. Seemed like they only 'lied' to each other when they were teasing each other. Real things they didn't lie about, though they might sweep it under the carpet but made it clear it was not up for discussion. At least not at that moment.

"I want to feel less guilty for keeping you tied up, making it feel a little less like something I'd be doing in Hell. And I didn't know if you got cold, or would feel more comfortable being covered up for a little while." He could see the blade lying on Spike's stomach and felt a muscle in his jaw clench. Dinner first.

"Alright. Cover me up," he agreed. "But don't feel guilty on my account, I know why you're doing this. You're right to do it. And let me have a bite of that fish you caught and are so bloody proud of. A small bite."

"Right to do it because you don't trust yourself?" Dean said, hoping that was the answer but suspecting it wasn't. "I'll check the fish but I don't think it's done yet. You want some potato chips or a drink of your beer?" Dean asked, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing the comforter from the other bed. He snapped it out and it settled slowly over Spike. Dean adjusted it so Spike's ribcage and above were showing. He couldn't help it that he liked admiring Spike's bare chest. He looked Spike over and wasn't sure that helped much, but he tried to believe it did.

"No, not hungry or thirsty, not for food. I was just curious to see if all that showing off about your catch was just show." He continued to tease the hunter and to try to amuse him, wanting more than anything to erase the note of sadness or regret he still saw in Dean's eyes. There was a defeated air about him that bothered Spike. Still, in his heart, he was certain Dean wasn't broken beyond the point of repair. He'd try everything, anything, anything to help Dean find himself. It took quite a while, but by the time Dean started to eat his fish, he seemed more relaxed and his laughs were real.

* * *

They'd talked, they'd laughed, and Dean finally cleaned up. Once everything was in the trash or back in the cooler, and the cooler restocked with ice, Dean brought out the last treat. S'mores. He hadn't had s'mores since he was a kid, and then that was only because of a cookout at one of the babysitter's they'd stayed with. Spike was as baffled by s'mores as Dean was by 'vegemite' or 'marmite.'

After Dean roasted a couple marshmallows and stuck them between chocolate and graham crackers, he could see Spike was interested in trying one, even as he was trying to feign disinterest. Once Dean had his fill, he made one up for Spike and 'convinced' Spike it was worth a try. Their eyes were locked on one another as Dean fed it to him, and they both made a very sticky mess of it all.

Instead of going and getting a wet rag, Dean leaned down and licked the smear of chocolate from the corner of Spike's lips, then leaned down and licked up the graham cracker crumbs along Spike's neck before returning to lick away a bit more chocolate and marshmallow. He was going to wash his own hand free of the marshmallow remnants but Spike would have none of that. Slowly Spike cleaned his fingers free of the sticky marshmallow and chocolate and Dean was groaning as Spike's tongue worked over his hand, all but making love to it. Blood began to slowly work its way toward Dean's groin.

"That tongue of yours is magic," Dean moaned and, pulling his hand away, licked across Spike's lips, then slipped his tongue into the depths of Spike's mouth. The kiss was long and slow, but the fireworks were beginning to crackle between them and their kiss grew more heated. Dean's hands roamed along Spike's muscular arms, over his face, through his hair, and down his neck and shoulders.

It was frustrating as hell, being completely unable to run his hands over Dean, to touch him. His tongue might be magic, but every cell in Spike's body wanted to show the hunter his other magical parts. The way Dean touched him, sometimes in gentle caresses, sometimes groping him greedily, it was enough to make him want to be free of these bonds, to make him want to maul the hunter. A deep groan worked its way out of his throat. Spike pulled his head back. "Free one hand." With Dean's lips so close to his, he couldn't really see the hunter's expression but felt his hesitation. "One hand dammit, or tie it down lower. Want to touch you."

Dean kissed Spike then whispered in his ear, "No."

Dipping his hand under the comforter Dean's fingers brushed over the steel hard abs. He pushed deeper and feeling the cold chill of metal, he froze. Slowly he pulled back the comforter and revealed Spike's flesh and the knife lying on his stomach. Dean stared at the knife cradled on that pale, unmarred flesh, his mouth going dry. He took a step back and shook his head, but his eyes never left that knife.

The angry demands at the tip of Spike's tongue never came. Just as Dean was enthralled by the knife, Spike was enthralled by Dean, his expression, the intensity of his focus and the sheer need reflected in every line of his body. It made Spike's cock surge with blood. "You're beautiful when you're fighting it," he said, understanding the pain, the battle storming inside the hunter. "Take it. Do it." He licked his lips and waited.

The desire pounded inside Dean, part of him refuting that need. Another part was desperate to carve into that white flesh as he made love to the man, wanting to hear the screams mixed in with the groans of pleasure and to feel the wetness of Spike's blood on his hands. Dean's gaze flicked to Spike's face, then back to the knife. Spike wanted this. Dean needed this. He picked up the knife and watched the light reflected on its blade, hearing the sounds of Hell in his mind.

"One thing." Spike's voice broke the silence. He waited until Dean pulled his gaze from the knife and looked him in straight in the eyes. "Do what you want, but do it to me. Not to some faceless soul. To me. Promise me that."

Dean stared at Spike almost as if he hadn't heard him, or the words made no sense. "To you," Dean rasped and gave a jerky nod, his breathing beginning to increase in pace. "I can mark you in a way that will always be there. Do you want that?"

"It better be pretty. And manly," Spike added, giving a nod. Marked by a human, this human. He hoped it meant something to Dean, more than the pleasure of the act itself. It meant much more to Spike. "Mark me," he demanded, his voice raw with emotion.

Dean almost growled at the thought of doing what he wanted, anything he wanted. Looking at the pocket knife, he cast it aside in disgust and went to his duffel. He pulled out a proper blade, a sharp dagger with a fine point. Returning to Spike's side he stripped down to bare skin. Slowly, he drew the dagger lightly over Spike's chest, not cutting flesh, just toying, feeling the ridges and troughs of muscles through the blade and handle of the knife.

"So beautiful," Dean murmured. "So perfect." His mind began to think back to the souls he'd ravished and cut to shreds, feeling the desire to experience it again, but forcing himself to look up at Spike's face. This was Spike, his Spike.

Dean dragged the dagger all the way down Spike's leg from hip to ankle, leaving a fine red line in the wake of the steel. He simply watched for a moment as the blood welled into drops that slowly trickled here and there down the side of Spike's leg.

Dean tilted his head as if mesmerized, watching the crimson flow from the extremely shallow wound. He moved to Spike's feet and ran the tip of the dagger up and down Spike's right foot. The hunter in him railed against it. Spike had to be able to walk. He heals fast, the dark voice inside him answered as he dug the blade in a little deeper and cut up Spike's foot, curving the wound so it crossed over his arch.

Being able to withstand pain didn't mean you didn't feel it. And pain, or fear of pain, amounted to risk. Risk of going too far. Risk of going places one or both of them would never return from. Risk of death.
Spike tensed as the tip of the knife sliced a clean line down his leg. There wasn't much pain, but the way Dean was transfixed on the blood with almost a vampiric obsession, Spike was sure it was coming. He was right. His head jerked back as Dean unerringly found the most sensitive area of his foot, its arch which was rich with nerve endings, and sliced deep. A soft sound of pain passed his lips, but he held still, his own focus swinging to Dean's face.

Dean heard Spike's soft whisper of pain and shut his eyes a moment, savoring the sound. He ran his thumb over the wound pressing hard, feeling the blood on his hand. Delicious. His eyes travelled slowly up Spike's body. Pleasure and pain, for both of them. He wiped the blade clean on the comforter and then licked up the sharp edge, slicing his tongue. He crawled onto the bed, straddling the vampire. Leaning in, he kissed the vampire, knowing that the wound on his tongue would close fast as most cuts on tongues did, but there was enough to tease the vampire, hopefully enough to bring him hard.

The sight of blood on Dean's tongue had Spike trying to come off the bed to get to it as fast as he could, even though he knew it was for him. His tongue was inside Dean's mouth even before their lips met and he was sweeping the warm, sticky, tangy liquid into his own mouth. Groaning with sudden intense need, he pushed his tongue inside the wet hot heat of Dean's mouth again, stroking Dean's tongue, then sucking it into his mouth, sucking hard to coax more blood to well up. So fucking hot... how could a human be so dirty and sexy ... vampire style? The instant he felt Dean pulling back, he sucked again, hard, refusing to allow him to pull away.

Dean grinned at the reaction his bleeding tongue drew from Spike. When Spike was so intent on keeping their lips melded together to get to the blood, he plunged the dagger through Spike's palm.

The sudden burning had Spike's entire body jerking, his head rising, his mouth bumping hard against Dean's as he cried out in shock. The hunter pulled away and Spike saw the dagger pinning his palm, blood pooling and dripping onto the bed. It was savage and brutal and familiar, so bleeding familiar. How many spikes had he put through people's palms? "N... not sure which of us is the poet," he rasped, his fingers curling slightly.

"My game. My rules," Dean practically crooned. "You get blood when I let you have it. When I stop, you let go or else I get rough and make a point about who's in control." Dean's lips curved into a smile. Pulling out the blade he put its bloodied steel against Spike's throat, then ripped the bandage off his own arm with his teeth. He held it up to Spike's mouth. "You can bite. You can drink." He pressed the tip of the blade lightly into the tender skin of Spike's throat. "Until I say stop."

For a long moment, Spike refused. It was a battle of wills and they both knew it. He wanted it, the hunter wanted it, but Spike was fighting it. His teeth pressed against Dean's wrist, aching, the need to bite down pushing the vampire to the end of his wits. It was only the sharp blade at his throat that kept him grounded, gave him a thread of control. He hung on, fought his demons for as long as he could, then his teeth extended and he bit into the hunter's flesh in almost exactly the same place he'd drank from before. With blood filling his mouth, he forgot everything else, moaning with need as he took from Dean, vaguely aware that bloodlust was lurking at the edges of his mind but eager to drink as much as he could while he was allowed.

Dean hissed when he felt the teeth dig into his arm and felt his cock surge. He had been half-hard before, but now? He was as hard as the erection he felt against his backside. Dean watched Spike's face, saw the sheer pleasure as Spike greedily took what Dean offered. After a good thirty seconds, Dean spoke. "Stop," he said firmly, lightly pressing the blade against Spike, giving him motivation to cease.

Snarling, Spike complied, retracting his fangs. But he continued to flick his tongue out, sweeping across the wound, lapping at the blood that continued to trickle out. He felt Dean's eyes on his, met them and saw both hot and cold in the hunter's eyes. He stopped licking, but made another demand. "Kiss me," he said, knowing his mouth and tongue was still slick with scarlet blood and that his body hadn't yet absorbed all of it. "Taste yourself on me. Want you to." The silence was unnerving. "Then touch me."

Dean was pleased Spike did as he was told. He chuckled at Spike's demands. "Now didn't we just have a discussion about who's in control?" He cut with the blade just below Spike's collar bone and groaned at seeing the blood spill from the wound.

Leaning down he kissed Spike hungrily, licking at his own salty blood in Spike's mouth. He pressed his ass back against the leaking tip of Spike's hard cock tauntingly as he rubbed his own cock against Spike's stomach. His kiss grew more fevered, not permitting Spike the control the vampire kept trying to take. Finally he sat up, his cock hard and aching. Shifting himself to between Spike's legs, he drew a long line down the center of Spike's chest with the dagger, running his fingers through the blood. "So fucking hot," Dean breathed.

Caught somewhere between pleasure and pain, Spike hissed and bit his lower lip. His chest rose and fell. His eyes pleaded for more, more of whatever the hunter would give him, more pressure, more touches, or... the thought of their blood slicked bodies moving against each other was enough to drive the vampire insane.

Twisting suddenly, Dean reached down and sawed through the rope binding Spike's left leg, and then his right. He pushed Spike's thighs up and without warning or preparation, buried his cock fully inside the vampire's hole, letting out an intense cry of pleasure.

With his mind clouded by the scent and feel and taste of blood, and focused on the burning line in the center of his chest, Spike was not prepared to be partially freed, or to be breached so suddenly. Blinding pain had him bucking up and cursing even as his cock reacted to the sound of pleasure from Dean. "Fuck," he breathed, using his feet behind Dean to pull him forward, so Dean's stomach brushed against the underside of Spike's aching cock as he tried to get used to the sensation of the hunter's cock splitting him into two. He cursed again. It had been a long time, decades since he'd taken it in the arse. It burned, the burn was worse than the cuts on his body and rivaled the pain Dean had delivered to his palm.

"You feel so good, look so hot," Dean said, his eyes closing a moment at the feel of Spike's tight hole clenching around his cock. Dean stayed buried inside as he ran his hands over Spike's body, cutting small gashes here and there, sometimes running his fingers through the thin sheet of blood.

Staring at Spike, the need to hurt, to possess and own, swelled inside Dean. "Mine," he growled as he ran his hands possessively over the body under him. Brushing his hands over Spike's cock, he occasionally wrapped his hand around Spike's shaft, sliding it up and down a few times before returning to caressing Spike's chest.

When he felt he'd given Spike enough time to adjust, Dean began to slowly rock his hips, making small little thrusts, just to get Spike used to him. He pulled out a bit more and shifted, searching out that sweet spot Spike had found inside him. When he got a sudden sharp reaction from Spike, he grinned.

Leaning forward, he began speaking soft words in the dark tongue he had learned in Hell. He began deeply carving into Spike's right shoulder, the blade almost moving of its own accord as the wound began to glow fiery red, blood flowing freely. The symbol was a set of swirls with a few straight lines cutting across them and dots ringing part of those swirls. The straight lines met in a point where an crescent arched over the lines. Dean gave sharp intermittent thrusts into Spike as he carved, unerringly hitting Spike's prostate every time.

Pleasure and pain, desire and fear, they rose and fell within Spike with every thrust of Dean's hips and every cut of his knife. His cries alternated between expressions of pain and demands for more, his legs clamping more tightly around Dean's body, forcing him closer, helping him drive his cock deeper, and shuddering when a cut was deeper than the last. He moved his head from side to side, his arms pushing upwards, trying to break free of the bonds. Dean's chanting brought with it new sensations. It was like acid burning the top layer of his skin and like freezing cold water calming the pain. He could smell burning flesh, though he knew there was none, he could feel flames erupting along the lines of the cuts and shouted Dean's name, his eyes glazing over as the flames died down again. He was ready to ask for mercy, and then the cycle would begin again, pleasure and pain, desire and fear....

Dean was lost in the spell as he cut and spoke and thrust, weaving a complex web of shadows of Hell, of reality, of lust and love. He completed the rune, then buried the knife in Spike's other shoulder and pulled it crosswise down to his hip. It was a deep cut, but not to the bone, not into the gut. He set the knife aside as the words faded from his lips and he ran both hands through the blood on Spike's chest, spreading it. He lifted one hand and ran his tongue in a long stroke across his palm. So damned sweet.

Leaning forward, Dean trapped Spike's cock with his body and locked his lips over Spike's. The blood was slick between their bodies as he began to piston in and out of that tight velvet cave, his cries growing in volume as he grew closer and closer to release. His kisses grew fevered and brutal, taking everything he could, their tongues at war, their lips bruising, their teeth clinking. Like a blast of fire, pleasure ravaged him, carrying him higher than he thought he could ever reach again. He broke the kiss and threw back his head as he shouted Spike's name to the heavens, his cum exploding inside Spike as he spasmed again and again.

Dean. Dean. Dean. The name echoed in Spike's mind and then erupted from his lips once Dean broke the kiss. "God... bloody fucking hell," he ground out, his eyes rolling back slightly as Dean came deep inside him, pushing him over the edge as well. Spike's entire body gave a violent shudder, eyes closing against the acute pleasure as he rode the waves of his climax. Wet heat gushed and spread between them, across their stomachs, mixing with the blood coating him. Spike opened his eyes and tried to focus, snarling as he tried to free himself. "Hold me," he demanded, unable to close his own arms around Dean but needing the contact. Lifting his head, gaze on Dean's mouth, he let out a moan as his lover lowered over him and their mouths crushed together, tongues instantly tangling and sweeping him into another long, heated kiss.

Dean wanted the kiss to go on forever, wanted everything to go on forever, the feelings of pleasure, the feelings of love, the feelings of...peace. The voices and screams in his head had finally quieted. He didn't know how long it would be before the memories swelled back over him as if to drown him in an ocean of despair but at this moment, Spike was everything he needed.

The need for air finally made him break his kiss. Spike had milked every last bit he could from him and he had done his best to return the favor, sliding his body over Spike's cock. He reached out for the knife and found it at Spike's side. Grasping it, he slowly pulled his limp cock free of Spike with a soft moan. He gave Spike another kiss, a silent reassurance that he wasn't going anywhere, then crawled up Spike's body far enough to cut the ropes that held Spike's arms. He moved back down, between Spike's legs, the knife set aside again as he braced himself on either side of Spike's body and looked at his handiwork. The small nicks were practically healed, the deeper one crossing Spike's chest was about half-healed, and Spike's shoulder... Re-balancing himself he lightly ran his fingers over the healing flesh, wiping away some of the blood. It was apparent that a red 'tattoo' would be left when Spike's body healed, maybe with a hint of scar tissue underneath.

Freed, Spike gave Dean a questioning look and half sat up, propping himself on his elbows. As Dean spoke, his attention was drawn to Dean's face and he paid rapt attention to everything the hunter said in that husky voice of his.

"The rune has a lot of meanings," Dean said quietly. "It indicates strength and power, tells others that you have a relationship with another. 'Relationship' can mean anything from someone owning your soul, to being in love, to deep kinship, to having a mortal enemy. It's kept loosely defined so the relationship can't be used against one another. It will make any demon re-consider laying a hand on you, they being unable to determine what the specifics of that rune might mean and who it's connected to. There's no lingering magic, or dark ties, or anything. But it's branded on your body and your soul. There is a simple ritual that can erase it, a few words, a silver blade, and cutting an 'X' through it. Hurts less than when you get it. If you don't like it," Dean chewed on his bottom lip a minute then gave a sharp nod, "I'll teach you how to remove it. Only you or I can remove it though." His gaze finally shifted from the healing wound to Spike's eyes. Softly Dean asked him, "Are you okay?"

"I am. Okay," Spike answered equally softly, "let's see your handiwork," he added, looking down at his shoulder. The excess blood that hadn't been wiped away was already being absorbed by his body. It was strange, seeing a mark, something permanent, on his flesh. "It's like an arrow, or a shooting star moving through the Milky Way," he mused out loud, internally connecting that up to thoughts of arrows piercing a heart.
Licking his lips, Spike looked up and met Dean's gaze again. "I won't be needing any removal spell. I'll be keeping it," he said, balancing on one elbow and stroking Dean's face with one hand. "What... what kind of relationship do you mean for it to signify?" he asked. "Not trying to trap you or box you in, just want to know what's in your head. You... you said 'mine.' Was that your bloodlust talking," he asked, feeling his heart constrict as he half expected the same response Dean had given him before, about using him, or being unsure. There was another fear too, a worry, one he wouldn't name just yet, not even to himself.

Dean rolled his head to press firmer against Spike's touch. "I wanna believe that things'll work between us. Something more permanent," Dean said quietly. "But I'm a realist, too. Winchester luck sucks ass, especially when it comes to love." A bitterness edged his laugh. "You'd probably be a helluva lot safer never seeing me again.

"We've only known each other for about a week. Half of it was kinda like Hell on Earth, and half of it has been the best damned vacation of my life." Dean ran his hand along Spike's face, mirroring the way Spike was touching him. "I haven't felt so," Dean searched for the right word and was shocked when he realized what it was, "happy, maybe not ever, than I do now. I said 'mine' because..." Dean took a deep breath. He wasn't good at the whole bare-my-innermost-feelings thing. He was already being more emo than Sam on one of his good days, but he could tell he couldn't dodge this. Spike needed to hear it. "...that's what I want. You. In a month we may wanna kill each other. But right now? I want you to stay with me."

He met Spike's gaze, his eyes turning a little hard. "I'm on the road. I hunt with my brother. And we've got this damned apocalypse to stop. I'm not gonna stay in one place. If you want this, you and me, gotta come with me. If you don't wanna come with, I get it."

"You've got me. For as long as you'll have me," Spike said. Dean had his ideas about the Winchester bad luck with love, but Spike also had his own ideas about how love turned out for himself. He was loyal, his love unshakable, love's little bitch-boy until his loves tossed him aside. It always happened, that day always came and always hurt. He was prepared for it, because in the end, it was always worth the risk. Always.

"I'll come with you," he kissed Dean. "We'll stop your apocalypse." He kissed him again, "do whatever it takes, yeah?" A smile formed on his lips. "And I'll tell you when you need a shower. Dean Winchester, you need a shower, right now. With me," he added, pulling himself out of bed and grasping Dean's hand to drag him out. His own body was now clean of blood, but Dean's wasn't and it seemed the old blood, even his own, bothered Spike now.

That dark hole inside Dean, it wasn't gone, but it was eased. He really was happy. Happy the voices had quieted, happy he felt a little more like a person rather than a shadow, happy that Spike said he would join him. If Spike had said 'no,' said Dean had to stay with him, Dean thought just maybe he would have. At least for a little while until his concern for his brother became more than he could handle and Spike's love couldn't chase it away. He knew Spike loved him: complete, unconditional love. He didn't feel worthy of it, no way, no how, but Spike knew what he had been and didn't care. Just like Dean knew what Spike was. They still had to beat Spike's bloodlust, and maybe with Spike's help, he could beat his need to hurt. Though he wasn't sure how much Spike would try to help him with that since he seemed to enjoy it. Dean understood that as well. He was pleased that Spike didn't have to pull out the 'safe word,' that Spike didn't have to stop him and mostly that he hadn't gotten carried away.

Dean chuckled at Spike's declaration that he needed at bath. Looking down at himself, Spike was right. He was cum covered and blood practically coated half his body. That bothered him for a moment. Blood. Spike's blood. It was consensual he reminded himself. Just like he had told Spike that Spike could bite him, Spike had told him he could use the knife. That definitely made him feel less like a monster, even if it did still feel wrong.

In the bathroom Spike turned the water on and waited for it to warm. "You're a bloody mess," he said, leaning toward the sink to look in the mirror at Dean's handiwork on his own body. He ran his index finger over the rune tattoo, still fascinated by the fact he could see himself and it in the mirror.

"You're the one who exploded like a fire hose between us," Dean said. He turned Spike to face him, running his red-stained hands over Spike's chest. "I can't believe how fast you heal." Pulling Spike into a sudden hug, he buried his face in the crook of Spike's neck, breathing in the scent of the vampire as he just hung on to him for a minute. He cleared his throat and finally stepped away. "Okay, enough chick-flick," he muttered. "And no cracks about bubblegum and pink ribbons."

Reaching into the shower Dean adjusted the water temperature to his liking and stepped inside, holding his hand out to help Spike in to join him.

Spike made no jokes, but he couldn't hide his smirk. Or the fact that he was happy. The water pouring down Dean's body was scarlet with his blood, which pooled at their feet before going down the drain. Taking the soap, Spike hastened the process, washing Dean off quickly, then more slowly, soaping his clean golden skin, scrubbing his back and shoulders, and arms, his chest and stomach. "A little blood and hard sex might be the antidote to bloodlust," he mused, leaning in and sucking on Dean's throat hard enough to leave a bruise. "Did I thank you for your blood donation?"
Dean couldn't deny he enjoyed the way Spike caressed his body with the soap, first with a quick efficient once over, then he practically made love to him with it. Dean was "mmming" his enjoyment of the hot water, of the touch of Spike's hands following after the soap. When Spike's mouth went to his throat he simply tilted his head to give the vampire all the access he wanted.

"Why do you trust her?" Dean demanded of Sam.

"Because she saved my life," Sam answered.

Was it any different, Dean wondered. Spike had proven himself trustworthy as far as Dean was concerned. Yeah, there was still the pesky bloodlust that he wasn't sure Spike had under control, but Spike seemed to know when it was coming on him, with the exception of when Dean cut himself, and had otherwise been able to give Dean warning. He didn't like the idea that he had his own bloodlust, but he did and Spike recognized it and understood it. Just like he understood Spike's. It was different. Vastly different. But it was also the same.

"You're welcome. Let's try to give me a few days though before I have to make any more significant donations though, huh?" Dean said turning in Spike's arms and kissing him. "So no going all bloodlusty for awhile. And maybe while you're not hungry it would be a good time to hit a blood bank and see how you do with doggie bags." Looking deep into Spike's eyes he gave a small shake of his head. "The voices, the screams, the memories of Hell, they're quiet right now." He pulled Spike against him, holding him tightly in his arms. "You can't imagine how it is to suddenly have that sort of peace. I don't feel like I'm going mad with guilt and shame and agony. I don't like what I had to do to get it, I don't like that I had to hurt you, but thank you. I guess it's that way for you, isn't it? Something that gnaws at you and until it's quenched, it eats you up inside."

"Same, yeah," Spike nodded. "Pleasure and pain," he said and ran his finger over the closed wound on Dean's throat, then kissed it. "I'm not feeling guilty. Be like me, not like my broody-pants grandsire. No one needs extra guilt to carry about when there's enough real things to worry about." He put his hand over Dean's mouth. "Not an invitation to argue. I know you can't force yourself to feel one way or another. Just a thought, something to bounce around in your head. Might make sense to you sometime." "I'm glad I can make the sounds go quiet. I'd be jealous of anyone else who could."

"I didn't think anyone or anything could ever ease the things I feel. I've wished a hundred times over that I couldn't feel anything at all. Could never figure out how I could hurt so bad inside when there didn't seem to be anything inside me but this great big empty hole where my soul used to be." Dean was silent a moment then looked at Spike with a furrowed brow. "Broody-pants? I'm gonna have to meet this grandsire of yours. Grandsire. That means he turned the one who turned you, right? Like a grandpa or something. So what's his name? And the one who turned you? Is your sire still around?" He felt a twinge of jealousy and kinda hoped the vamp wasn't.

"Angel. I told you a bit about him before, he's the one who was sent to a hell dimension," Spike answered, trying to read Dean's expression. "My 'sire,' Drusilla, she's ... she was dusted." He looked down for a moment. "Dru, me, Angel and Darla... the Scourge of Europe, there you have it. Now, enough history. Let's see if I can fill up this great big empty place of yours," he whispered, his hand sliding down the center of Dean's back to the cleft of his ass. Liking the idea more by the second, he pulled Dean up hard against him and locked their mouths together in a heated kiss.

"I think you're lying about the railroad spikes. I think the real reason they call you Spike is because you're always hot for sex," Dean said rolling his eyes a little, but before he could say anything more, Spike was kissing him and everything else went out of his head.

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