[This time it happened much more gradually than earlier's fierce, sudden attack on his body, an arm snatched into the jaws of the beast. He watched Alucard study the scope of his chest in each placement of that wandering mouth, and as the moment stretched into eternity that anticipation wound tighter and crueler in his belly. The transition of expression struck a chord in Dorian: he didn't know what it meant, but it drew him to obedient stillness on the bed long enough for the vampire to find the perfect patch of skin and muscle to suck.
He had view of a pink mouth opening to further reveal the points of teeth just before they embedded into his flesh in that single, claiming bite. An electric ripple of pain went through him, more intense than the first if only for the tension of suspense built up to this moment. Yet it carried an undercurrent of biting pleasure. Dorian heard himself emit a low whimper pressed behind his own sealed lips. He'd never sounded like that; it was almost alarming.
The act was more intimate than any he'd ever shared. That alone tore Dorian between fear and desperate desire, the want to rescind permission and the want to keep their bodies like this for as long as he could physically stand. The stinging of teeth soon became the throb of his heart leaking blood from the wound onto Alucard's tongue.
And those images, at last, washed over him in a torrent. It was the last which sprung brief, quick tears to his eyes, quickly blinked away, possessed of a despair that did not feel like it belonged to him.
In return Alucard would see a similar reel: a childhood of beautiful things, material wealth, grand sprawling estates and a hot sun, but always with a pervading sense of emptiness. A boy playing alone. A boy surrounded by books, practicing magic to the audience of no one - or the figure of a woman who stood like a rigid statue of beauty in the corner of the room. Glimpses of later tutelage, magical duels, a landscape constantly shifting but always isolated.
The figure of a father, rarer, unsmiling. The words, You are no son of mine, in bright clarity.
Dorian was aware of none of this as his arms encircled Alucard on top of him, the rush of emotion almost too much to bear, a neediness in the way he rolled hips upward and squeezed muscular legs around Alucard's lower body. His skin felt hot. He wanted to be touched. One hand wound into gold hair, cradling the back of Alucard's head where it bent over him. In a ragged voice came out:]
Adrian...
[And he couldn't say whether it was memory of the past or the present that made him choose that particular name.]
no subject
He had view of a pink mouth opening to further reveal the points of teeth just before they embedded into his flesh in that single, claiming bite. An electric ripple of pain went through him, more intense than the first if only for the tension of suspense built up to this moment. Yet it carried an undercurrent of biting pleasure. Dorian heard himself emit a low whimper pressed behind his own sealed lips. He'd never sounded like that; it was almost alarming.
The act was more intimate than any he'd ever shared. That alone tore Dorian between fear and desperate desire, the want to rescind permission and the want to keep their bodies like this for as long as he could physically stand. The stinging of teeth soon became the throb of his heart leaking blood from the wound onto Alucard's tongue.
And those images, at last, washed over him in a torrent. It was the last which sprung brief, quick tears to his eyes, quickly blinked away, possessed of a despair that did not feel like it belonged to him.
In return Alucard would see a similar reel: a childhood of beautiful things, material wealth, grand sprawling estates and a hot sun, but always with a pervading sense of emptiness. A boy playing alone. A boy surrounded by books, practicing magic to the audience of no one - or the figure of a woman who stood like a rigid statue of beauty in the corner of the room. Glimpses of later tutelage, magical duels, a landscape constantly shifting but always isolated.
The figure of a father, rarer, unsmiling. The words, You are no son of mine, in bright clarity.
Dorian was aware of none of this as his arms encircled Alucard on top of him, the rush of emotion almost too much to bear, a neediness in the way he rolled hips upward and squeezed muscular legs around Alucard's lower body. His skin felt hot. He wanted to be touched. One hand wound into gold hair, cradling the back of Alucard's head where it bent over him. In a ragged voice came out:]
Adrian...
[And he couldn't say whether it was memory of the past or the present that made him choose that particular name.]