Fic: Blood

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I still have a few more minutes left before free-for-all day is over? :D (In my time zone, anyway?)

Title: Blood

Medium: fic

Author/creator: tei_lj

Era/season/setting: A series of vignettes spanning pre-S1 (1994) to post-S6 (2006).

Rating: NC-17 for sex, violence, and, obviously, blood.

Word count: ~2800

Notes: So, this fic was inspired by an offhand remark made on the Female Gaze Podcast about how even in fanfic, let alone most canons, there isn’t enough acknowledgement of menstruation and how it would realistically affect characters’ lives. Menstruation, not Spuffy, is the main theme of this fic, but it is plenty Spuffy by volume ;)

Warnings: Uh, basically, if you think you are going to find this gross, you’re probably right.


“Mom, people are going to see it.” Buffy looked doubtfully at the thick wad of material Joyce had just handed her. “Aren’t they?” she added doubtfully.

Joyce sighed. “Not as long as you wear normal pants and not those ridiculous skintight things you brought back from the mall last week,” she said.

Buffy scowled. “This is so gross,” she muttered. “I’m the first of my friends to get it, too. I’m going to be the only one at school.”

“Thirteen is a perfectly normal age to start menstruating,” Joyce said, “I’m sure there are lots of people in your grade who have their periods already, they just haven’t said anything. And everyone your age will be wearing a pad. Now— are you having any cramps? I can get you some tylenol.”

Buffy briefly considered claiming to have cramps too bad to go to school that day, but if she was too sick to go to school, Mom was definitely going to say she was too sick to go to skating practice. Instead she just stomped into the bathroom to wrestle this unwelcome new accessory into her underwear.


“And Buffy— one more thing.”

Buffy was shaking like a leaf. A vampire. There had been a vampire, here, in Los Angeles, and she had shoved a wooden stake through its heart and— she drew in a deep breath, raising her gaze from the pile of dust on the ground to the portly man who had intercepted her after school to lead her to this— whatever it was. Her calling, he kept saying. He looked, if possible, even more nervous than her.

“Yeah?” she said in a small voice.

Merrick cleared his throat several times, shifting from foot to foot. “Vampires, ah— well, as you know they drink blood, so naturally they’re quite good at smelling it. And seeing as the nature of the Slayer lineage is, ahm, entirely female— and seeing as the element of surprise can occasionally be useful, especially for a less experienced fighter such as yourself— best to make sure that any, um, monthly bleeding, is kept on the inside of the body.’ He drummed his fingers on his thighs furiously. “So to speak. Is that, um, understood?”

Buffy nodded slowly, barely registering Merrick’s extreme discomfort. Needing to learn how to insert a tampon was the least of her worries right now.

Two weeks later, several vampires down, and with the muscle soreness just beginning to fade into the background from the now daily workouts Merrick was putting her through, she sat on the toilet, underwear around her ankles, holding a leaflet with tiny print on it in front of her face.

Tampons are associated with Toxic Shock Syndrome (TSS), she read out loud to herself. “TSS is a rare but serious disease that may cause death. Please consult the product insert for further information.

Buffy stared at the blue cardboard box sitting innocently on the vanity counter. ‘Great,” she muttered. “I get to choose between death by tampon or death by disgusting vampire smell sense. Perfect.” She pulled a wrapped tampon from the box, glad that Mom wasn’t home to wonder what was taking her so long in the bathroom. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t be allowed to use tampons, probably. After all, Mom had said she could try them eventually. Buffy just didn’t particularly feel like having to think up some excuse as to why she could suddenly never wear pads again.

She crunched her abdominal muscles slightly to gaze down at her vagina, suddenly very aware of the fact that she wasn’t entirely sure how many holes there were down there, or which one the little piece of plastic was supposed to go into. The other girls in health class at Hemery High seemed to think that masturbation was for girls who were too unpopular to get boyfriends, so Buffy had stopped her hesitant nighttime explorations, not wanting to have to be lying when she claimed not to touch herself during the whispered secret conversations at the back of the classroom.

Now, she hesitantly reached a finger down and located where it came away covered in blood. Taking a deep breath, she unwrapped the tampon and slid the applicator in, pushing it up until he fingers touched her labia like the instructional leaflet had said, then pushed in the trigger and felt the scratchy piece of cotton slide into her. She wrapped up the bloody applicator in several layers of toilet paper and stood up, wiggling around, and was surprised and relieved to find she could no longer feel it inside her. She washed up and retreated to her bedroom, where she tried a few exploratory kicks and punches, then pulled her pants back down to double-check that the thing wasn’t falling out of her. It seemed fine; somewhat reassured, she reached under the bed to pull out her weapons bag and got ready for the night.


Xander clapped his hands over his ears. “Don’t need to hear it, Will!”

Willow looked embarrassed; Buffy rolled her eyes. “Sorry the mere mention of blood offends your delicate male sensibilities, Xander,” she said, pushing the bowl of popcorn aside and stretching her legs. “I’ll get you a tampon, Will.”

“Thanks.” Willow followed her to the bathroom and watched as Buffy rooted around in the cupboard. “Sorry about that. I guess I should remember better when I’m due for it.”

Buffy laughed and handed her the tampon. “Don’t worry about it. Seriously. I do entire cold-water laundry cycles just for all the clothes I have with bloodstains on them— one more blanket is no big deal.”

Xander had paused the movie in the other room, and Buffy had thrown the stained blanket in the “bloody laundry” pile and replaced it with a fresh one before Willow was even back from the bathroom.

Willow settled carefully back onto the bed beside where Buffy was stretched out in front of the TV and smiled. “It’s nice to have girl friends,” she said. “Friends who are girls, that is,” she added hastily. “I’ve never really had one before.” Buffy grinned and slung an arm around her, pressing play on the remote. “Yeah, boys suck,” she agreed loudly, eliciting a “Hey!” from Xander, sitting on the floor with his back against Buffy’s bed.


Stop. Following. Me. We are not having sex. Ever. Again.”

Spike only walked faster to keep up with her, his hand sneaking under his shirt to scratch his stomach unconcernedly. “Is that so.”

“And definitely not while I’m—“ Buffy stopped short. She had been about to say “on my period,” which he probably already knew, the pig, but that didn’t mean she had to acknowledge it. “—on my way home from work,” she finished instead.

He smirked, obviously knowing exactly what she had just stopped herself from saying, and strode in front of her to corner her into the doorway of an abandoned and boarded-up coffee shop. “But you smell so delicious when you’re on your way home from work,” he grinned. “And I’ll bet you have cramps… from working so hard. I can make you feel good, pet.” One of his hands found the zipper on her jeans and the other was slipping down to cup her mons through her underwear.

She gasped with sudden arousal, then recoiled. No. She had decided not to do this, goddammit. And seriously, there was no way she was letting a vampire get anywhere near her menstrual blood. She was still the Slayer, for crying out loud.

“I think you’re forgetting,” Buffy hissed, pulling away from the seductive pressure of his fingers, “that women get moody on their periods.” She punctuated the word moody with a punch, fist landing on his cheek and the side of his nose with a satisfying crunch and ensuing spurt of blood. Spike staggered backwards but regained his balance quickly, face morphing into bumps and fangs in an instant. The growl that rumbled from his chest made her wet despite herself, and that just made her angrier.

“So that’s how you want it tonight,” he managed to spit out past his fangs in the moment before she flew at him. She knew, as she landed blow after blow and took as many in return, that she was playing straight into his hands. Sure, what he wanted most was her blood and body, but he’d accept her rage and pain as a close second.

By some point they probably all tasted the same.


Buffy woke up to Dawn’s voice, whining.

“Seriously, Buffy? We have got to find somewhere else to put all of the Slayers. A hotel or something? It’s getting waaaaay too crowded in here.”
Buffy sat up. She was on the couch in the living room, a book overturned on the floor in front of her. Spike was sitting leaned against the wall on the other side of the room, watching her. Damn him, he was supposed to have stopped her from falling asleep. He was smiling slightly as he watched Dawn stomp her foot, calling for Buffy’s attention.

“Ugh.” Buffy rubbed her eyes blearily. “Dawn, we don’t have the money for a hotel.”

“Okay, but like, seriously?” Dawn’s eyes were wide. “That cycle-synching thing? So not a myth. I swear there are like eight of us on the rag right now.”

“Eleven,” interjected Spike quietly, earning an exasperated glance from Buffy and an emphatic gesture from Dawn. “Eleven! See?” she repeated. “The bathroom is a freaking war zone.”

Buffy knew that Dawn was half-joking, and was probably doing her a favour by waking her up, but she was too tired to find the humour in it.

“Well then, it matches the rest of Sunnydale,” she snapped. “Cleaning supplies are in the front hall closet. Knock yourself out.”

Three hours later, she was standing in line at the pharmacy.

“Can I help you?” the pharmacist asked, and Buffy handed her the birth control prescription she’d just picked up at the one walk-in clinic in Sunnydale.

“I’d like to buy all 24 months now, please,” she said.

The pharmacist raised her eyebrows.

“I’m going, uh, hiking,” Buffy stammered. “In the mountains. For two years. With my, uh, my boyfriend.”

The pharmacist still looked skeptical, but was grabbing a little basket and copying down something into her records. ‘Have you taken this medication before?” she asked.

“No,” said Buffy. “And I actually have a question about it, uh, someone once told me that you didn’t have to take the placebo pills? Like, if you just take three weeks of active pills and then go straight on to week one in the next pack, you’ll never have a period? Is that true?”

The pharmacist now looked decidedly alarmed. “Well, yes, technically,” she said through pursed lips, “But I would recommend speaking to a doctor before you try—“

“Great,” said Buffy hastily, “Sure. Okay. Will do. I was just wondering, you know, for when you’re really busy— if you need to keep your strength up and can’t afford to— you know, if you just can’t have a period right now for any reason. Just for a little while.” Buffy realized she was babbling. God, she was so tired. She shook her head. “Anyway. Okay. Thanks.”

The pharmacist just nodded. “It’ll be ready for you at the other counter in a few minutes.”

That night, Buffy gave out the packages to each Potential, as well as herself and Dawn, at a meeting in the living room. “These are not because you are going to be having sex,” she instructed briskly, “with anyone in Sunnydale, ever. They’re strictly to eliminate your periods. We can’t afford to be weakened by cramps or bleeding.” The girls looked at the packages curiously and dispersed, chattering. Buffy sighed. If they were all still alive in three weeks time, she would have to have Dawn go get another prescription— the pharmacy would probably notice if she kept coming back to buy another two-year supply of birth control. Still, it was one less weakening factor to worry about. One less reason for a girl to get themselves killed in a moment of inattention, when the time came. Maybe one less death on Buffy’s conscience.


It had been a great patrol, and the night was only getting better.

Buffy moaned as Spike’s tongue circled her entrance while he rubbed her clit with a gentle finger. He had blood smeared on his face, and his tongue was working carefully around the fangs he couldn’t keep from descending whenever he tasted her menses.

Spike loved drinking Buffy’s blood, and she loved being bitten. Lying pinned to their bed, his cock moving inside of her, his fangs sunk into her shoulder, she was deliciously helpless and completely at peace. In those moments, all she wanted was for it to never stop— she would have him bleed her dry if it weren’t for, well, death generally being a consequence of that. And to her annoyance, even small bites sometimes made her feel a bit tired the next day, Slayer healing or no. So instead, a bite was a special treat; and to tide them over, they had this. Every month, two or three glorious days where Spike would drink as much as he could pull from her, hold her down and take her blood with no repercussions whatsoever.

He was taking full advantage. He had started as soon as they’d arrived home from patrol, knowing the fighting got her juices flowing in every possible sense. As always, he’d first pulled out her menstrual cup and licked it out. This had taken some getting used to, admittedly, and Buffy had been a little wigged the first time he had done it— but watching him lick anything was erotic, really, and once she had gotten used to it, the sight of his long tongue lapping up her most intimate fluids from the the product he jokingly referred to as the vampire shot glass just made her more ready for Spike to be licking blood out of her.

He grabbed her then, roughly but with care, and arranged her on the bed; her head on a pillow so that she could watch him at work, caressing her arms as he laid them out at her sides, kissing down her breasts and belly and finally placing his hands on her thighs and slowly pushing her legs apart. He took gasping and, for him, completely unnecessary breaths as he kneeled between her legs and stared at her, spread open for him.

He suckled at her like he was a starving man, like she was the only thing that could ever nourish him. Buffy would never admit it, but she had come to kind of understand why Riley had taken to the vamps-for-hire all those years ago. What she felt when Spike drank from her, so simultaneously powerful and helpless and completely and totally needed— it was a heady feeling. It was actually pretty easy to see how someone would pay good money for even a pale imitation of this.

Of course, it also didn’t hurt that he was giving as much as he took. He rubbed her clit as he fucked her with his tongue, alternating between licking as far as he could reach and caressing her g-spot with his fingers. He kept her on the edge for as long as it took for the blood to stop flowing, and when he had drank as much as she could give he let her fall, grabbing onto his hair as she screamed her release.

He took his own pleasure languidly, sliding inside her and rocking gently as her breathing slowed from her orgasm. “Thank you,” he murmured into her hair.

When it was over, they lay side by side, Buffy’s head snuggled into his chest. She felt peaceful, and loved, and somehow cleansed. Strange, that an act that should be so taboo should feel so purifying.

“I want to do this forever,” she murmured sleepily.

He kissed her forehead. “You’ll stop menstruating eventually, pet.”

“Mmm,” she grumbled, “But by then I’ll be old. I’ll be too old to fight demons every day, so you can bite me all the time and it won’t matter.”

Spike’s held her tighter. “Your blood is precious. I wouldn’t want it too often. These feelings are meant to be savoured, and remembered for a long time, and looked forward to properly.”

Buffy laughed a little and loosened her grip a little to look up into his face. “True. Who would have ever thought that I’d be looking forward to my period every month?”

“You should,” he answered seriously. “It’s blood. Your blood. That’s sacred, powerful stuff.”

“Well, you should try bleeding through the crotch of your jeans sometime,” she muttered, but the complaint was good-natured. Spike stole a final kiss, and when she tasted her own blood on his mouth, all she could feel was gratitude.

United by blood, Slayer and vampire drifted to sleep.


Originally posted at