#alucardhellsing

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In any other relationship, that would seem beyond tame — perhaps even neglectful. But with Alucard? That was a silent hostility. You knew it well. He wasn’t an outwardly affectionate person in public. He wasn’t one for the boyish theatrics. Kissing for all to see, groping, grabbing. You could practically see his nose wrinkling in distaste at the prospect. He was an ancient vampire who had better ways to send a message while barely lifting a finger. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun with it. You know he’s gotten hostile when he smoothly interjects into a conversation and asks you so sweetly; “Are you feeling cold?” You’re not feeling cold, but you’d answer his question with a smiling ‘yes,’ because you like the pleased smile he gets when he lays his coat over your shoulders and looks on at whoever was getting a bit too friendly. That look in his eyes would make the hairs rise on the back of your neck. You feel lucky that he’d never looked at you that way. Burning with murderous intent. A silent inferno that he kept under tight control. 

He’d burn that energy off with you late when the stars came out. Or… not so much burn, but melt it away, slowly, meticulously. Alucard had all the patience in the world for you, which meant that nothing would be done that wouldn’t be drawn out and savored entirely. Suffer you would for him during the day when a spur of neediness arises. 

“That’s too bad, my dear. Save it for tonight and I will ravish you until you can take no more.” The words are whispered against your temple to keep anyone around you from hearing. It doesn’t stave the needy lurch of your stomach. Alucard was so good at that. So good at making his rejections only spur you on more. 

Further along, you’re worried he’d trained you without words to only feel arousal when the sun sets. When he’d slide into bed with you, lay you back, and savor you like he intended to until the end of your time. To him, you were beautiful. A fantastic thing to behold — the magnificence of a human. A wondrous blip in time like a firework bursting in the dark of an infinite night. Alucard intended to enjoy you in slow motion. To admire every messy gunpowder star you possessed, all to himself, for your eternity. 

You are his, after all, and him yours. You feel it in the way he clutches you to himself late at night, long fingers cradling the back of your head so that your cheek is pressed up against his sternum. No heart beats there, but you feel the press of his chest and the false breath he breathes against you. You feel it in his kisses, gentle, but nipping and consuming. You see it in his eyes. They go wide and crazed when your attention is drawn away to another. He stays silent and unmoving but the air is already tight enough to choke on. 

And rarely. 

Very, rarely; you hear it in his voice. Nuzzling into your throat, grazing his teeth, nipping, biting, drawing a little blood here and there, and licking it clean… that’s when he’ll lean close and whisper into your ear with a voice like a purring beast. 

“Mine alone. Mine to cherish. Mine to love. You’re lost to them. Say it, say you love me.” 

Amidst the mess of limbs — too many limbs — amidst the mess of kisses — too many mouths — you can barely manage your answer between shuddered breaths.