[ There was a moment where his eyes were pleading, begging. Where he was a sympathetic, vulnerable creature, asking for nothing more than a morsel of sustenance that only Dorian could provide. They were a boy's eyes; wide and gentle and terrified. But as Dorian conceded permission that tender look hardened, darkened. An affectionate and measured cruelty sapping the innocence from them.
The look couldn't have been more than a wicked glance as his eyes closed, breathing in silently and deeply through his nose. Throat filling with the perfume of Dorian's skin and the blood that flowed just underneath it. A soft kiss on the shapely curve of his pectoral, and another and another. The final kiss of many left his lips sealed on Dorian's chest in an oval shape.
He could hear their hearts beating, syncopated and irregular beats throbbing in his ear. The longer he listened, the more his own heartbeat moved to match Dorian's. A steady thrum that comforted him (but also gave him an indication of whether he went too far and needed to stop).
His jaw muscles tightened, bulging at his cheekbones as his fangs pierced through his skin effortlessly. Like biting into a ripe peach the second his jaw loosened he felt blood trickling into his mouth, saturating his tongue and slipping down his throat like the world's finest fortified wine. How was it possible that Dorian tasted even more sumptuous than he had earlier.
As he supped warm, pleasant memories came to his subconscious mind. Walking through wildflower fields on the rolling hills of Wallachia with his mother, following her and seeing her flaxen hair blend into the tall, yellow grasses. Fencing lessons at blinding speed with his father, two sets of similar, pointed-teeth mouths laughing unapologetically at trivial comments. There were so many pleasant memories but all of them suspiciously relegated to his youth, and amidst the golden afternoons and candlelit evenings there was a vision that tried to spoil them. A flash of horror and heartbreak and
humanity.
The nightmare couldn't have been longer than their harmonised heartbeat but maybe a second was enough to see it.
A woman with flaxen hair in the white garb relegated to execution. Frantically struggling against her bindings as fire licked at her thighs and seared her beauty. The stench of burning hair and human meat egging on the crowd as they eagerly screamed at her dying, shouting 'witch' and 'vampire lover'.
Of course Alucard didn't realise he'd shared all this with Dorian, instead his fingers were exploring past his chest and lower down to buckle pulled tight by Dorian's tented trousers. ]
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The look couldn't have been more than a wicked glance as his eyes closed, breathing in silently and deeply through his nose. Throat filling with the perfume of Dorian's skin and the blood that flowed just underneath it. A soft kiss on the shapely curve of his pectoral, and another and another. The final kiss of many left his lips sealed on Dorian's chest in an oval shape.
He could hear their hearts beating, syncopated and irregular beats throbbing in his ear. The longer he listened, the more his own heartbeat moved to match Dorian's. A steady thrum that comforted him (but also gave him an indication of whether he went too far and needed to stop).
His jaw muscles tightened, bulging at his cheekbones as his fangs pierced through his skin effortlessly. Like biting into a ripe peach the second his jaw loosened he felt blood trickling into his mouth, saturating his tongue and slipping down his throat like the world's finest fortified wine. How was it possible that Dorian tasted even more sumptuous than he had earlier.
As he supped warm, pleasant memories came to his subconscious mind. Walking through wildflower fields on the rolling hills of Wallachia with his mother, following her and seeing her flaxen hair blend into the tall, yellow grasses. Fencing lessons at blinding speed with his father, two sets of similar, pointed-teeth mouths laughing unapologetically at trivial comments. There were so many pleasant memories but all of them suspiciously relegated to his youth, and amidst the golden afternoons and candlelit evenings there was a vision that tried to spoil them. A flash of horror and heartbreak and
humanity.
The nightmare couldn't have been longer than their harmonised heartbeat but maybe a second was enough to see it.
A woman with flaxen hair in the white garb relegated to execution. Frantically struggling against her bindings as fire licked at her thighs and seared her beauty. The stench of burning hair and human meat egging on the crowd as they eagerly screamed at her dying, shouting 'witch' and 'vampire lover'.
Of course Alucard didn't realise he'd shared all this with Dorian, instead his fingers were exploring past his chest and lower down to buckle pulled tight by Dorian's tented trousers. ]