Traveler's Teatime

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Traveler’s Teatime
A Van Helsing fanfiction

They had vanquished Count Dracula, held a funeral for Anna and had ridden off into the sunset. After that they didn’t return to Transylvania proper, they rode back to the port, and then they were on their way back to England, easy as that.
The waters were smooth, the trip home would be an easy one, so Carl the Friar and Gabriel the Hunter had little else to do but keep each other entertained.
And keep entertained they did.

The hunter had come to grips with the fact that the friar would fairly well do as he pleased –all with God’s blessing of course- and would do so as often as possible.
With that in mind, he had no qualms about asking his companion: “So, Carl, that girl…”
“Helena,” Carl interjected, “Named for Helen of Troy, she told me so herself. Helen, the face that launched a thousand ships, instigated the Trojan war…”
The hunter sighed, typical Carl, getting carried away over the least little thing, “The mythological history of her nasidaside, how in the name of God did you get her into bed?”

“Oh. That. I asked.” The friar said with a shrug, as if that were the only sensible conclusion.
“You asked?” The hunter repeated in utter disbelief.
“Well,” Carl amended, “I saved her life, then asked.”
Gabriel blinked again, “And that’s all?”
The friar smiled slightly, “You just asked how I got her there. Keeping her there was another matter entirely.”
“Ahh,” the hunter nodded, “And how did you keep her there?”
Carl smiled again, “That was simply proper technique Gabriel. Should I call you Gabriel? Or should I continue to call you by your surname?”
The hunter half smiled, shaking his head, “Whichever comes out of your mouth first, Carl.” Almost without pausing he added, “God I need a drink.”

He’d discovered on their initial ocean crossing that he got seasick, but if he had enough alcohol in him that the room seemed to be swaying anyway, the seasickness wasn’t so bad.
Carl chuckled, already rummaging through one of his bags, “You should have just said so. Here.” He handed his companion a flat bottle made of cobalt glass, the hunter took it cautiously, as if it might bite him, “What is it?”
Carl chuckled again, taking out another bottle for himself, thumbing it open, “Helen made it, Transylvanian Tea. Absinthe flavored with mead, a little bit of cream, rose hips. Quite good actually.” As if to prove this –should Gabriel doubt his word- he swallowed a gulp. Then coughed twice, eyes tearing, he always seemed to forget that he had little experience with any alcoholongeonger than communion wine, and perhaps a mug of two of mulled cider at Christmas.

Carl coughed again, voice almost a squeak, “Quite good indeed.”
The hunter wasn’t so rude as to laugh at this, though he couldn’t suppress a smile, taking a swallow of the ‘tea’ himself, finding that it was, indeed, quite good.
He took another swallow, already feeling himself start to relax under the effects of the drink, “Thank you Carl.”
The friar shook his head, taking a small sip from his own bottle, he managed to only cough once, apparently having retrieved his voice, “Don’t mention it.”

Within an hour, they were both sitting on the hunter’s cot, lea bac back against the ship’s hull, and sideways against each other. Gabriel took another long swallow of his drink, noting, not for the first time, that he still had half of it left, “This ‘proper technique’ of yours, Carl, howsit work?” He was marginally aware that he was slurring, but didn’t really care.
Carl’s brow furrowed, “Proper?… Oh. That” He nodded, taking another small sip of his nearly empty bottle, “Judy… Juli-ish… Julius… Judidi… die…” He sighed then, brow furrowing further before managing: “Judicious application of teeth.” He nodded once, f thf that explained everything.
Gabriel’s brow furrowed then, fingers drumming against the bottle they held, “Howssat work?” He asked, swallowing another gulp of his tea.

Carl blinked twice, took another small sip of his tea and started, “Well… first you… erm…” He shook his head, “No good, can’t explain, I’d have to show you.”
Gabriel’s brow furrowed further, blinking, “Show me? How? S’no one here to show me with.”
Carl cleared his throat, “Well, if you’ll allow it, I could demonstrate on you, all in the name of education of course.” He added quickly.
The hunter pondered that a long moment, taking another long swallow of his drink, then he shrugged, managing to miss the fact that his companion seemed far more sober than he should have for having drunk apparently twice as much as the hunter had. “Alright.”

Gabriel also managed to miss Carl’s rather overenthusiastic grin at the response.
“So…” the hunter started, taking another pull from the bottle in his hand, “How d’we start?”
The friar sighed, rolling his eyes and setting his own bottle aside, “I’m quite sure that you’ve kissed pe bef before. This shouldn’t be a completely new experience for you Gabriel.”
When the hunter continued to look like a lost duck the friar sighed and rolled his eyes again, “Just relax Gabriel. I’ll demonstrate.” He shifted position slightly, turning to face the other man instead of sitting beside him. An almost nervous tongue flicked out over his lower lip, long fingers trailing through the other man’s hair, finding that it was softer than he’d expected, and that he quite liked how it felt against his skin.

It took him a moment before he leaned in to close the space between then, momentarily disappointed at the lack of response when he covered the hunter’s mouth with his own.
The hunter drew away after a moment, voice having dipped, “And the teeth?” He’d apparently decided that ‘application’ and ‘judicious’ were beyond his ability to pronounce at that moment.
Carl smiled slightly, his own voice faint, “I was just getting to that Gabriel.” His tongue flicked out over the swell of the other man’s lower lip, just enough to e ite it before he took the sensitive flesh gently between his teeth, finding the right pressure easily enough. Just hard enough to be felt, not quite hard enough to hurt.

He smiled slightly in satisfaction at thft, ft, instinctive moan that escaped Gabriel’s throat, that and the fact that judicious application of teeth was all it took to get the man to respond.
For his part, the hunter still didn’t realize fully that he’d become the prey, and even if he had it was unlikely at that point that he’d put a stop to it, enjoying himself too much. Deeper instincts rising to the surface, darker desires flickering across his mind, finding that he wanted to claim the redhead, mark him, possess him completely.

A growl rose in his throat as he pressed into the kiss, his own tongue flicking into the shallow pocket between Carl’s upper lip and his teeth.
He pressed the friar back against the cot slowly, gentle and insistent, taking control of the kiss. When he drew back to catch his breath it took a moment for Carl’s eyes to focus, swallowing reflexively, “Gabriel, we shouldn’t…” Whatever argument he’d had dissolved into a soft moan as the hunter’s work-rough fingersked ked up under his tunic, meeting skin.
Carl’s voice had gone breathless, realizing that he’d been playing with fire and was now trying desperately to avoid being burned, but when Gabriel’s fingers tugged his tunic open, skating across his chest, he dec tha that he would probably quite like being burned.

Gabriel’s tongue flicked out to wet suddenly dry lips, desire working t burn through the effects of the alcohol.
One hand spread against Carl’s narrow chest, fingertips just brushing against the darker skin of the man’s nipples.
The friar blinked slowly up at the man above him, meeting the hunter’s gaze, his stomach jolting almost distressingly at the depth of the hunger he saw there. Gabriel didn’t just want him, Gabriel wanted to own him. That realization sent a fissure of desire snaking up his spine, eliciting a low groan, still holding the other man’s gaze, even with half closed eyes.
It slowly dawned on Gabriel that he could smell not only the other man’s desire, but also a collection of almost smells that he realized made up Carl’s unique scent.
He leaned close, nudging at the hollow behind the redhead’s ear, inhaling slowly, deeply, just taking in the smell and heat of the other man.

Thoughts that had been simmering at the back of the friar’s mind surfaced at a full rolling boil. The hunter was scenting him out.
Like a wolf.
The cure had been to reverse the physicality of the werewolf, but not the mentality. Such coherent thoughts quickly fled his mind however, when the warm gusts of Gabriel’s breath moved down the side of his throat and the center of his chest, following the path of tingling skin left by the hunter’s hand sliding slowly lower.

Gabriel’s tongue flicked out, tasting the tender dip of Carl’s stomach, chuckling softly as wiry muscles tensed slightly, the hunter’s fingers tugging insistently at the ties of the other man’s breeches, realizing dimly that he was growling, a low, throbbing, impatiently demanding sound in the back of his throatggingging at Carl’s waistband once more, he’d simply tear the garment from the man if he had to.
Carl realized this quickly and managed to wriggle free from the hunter’s grasp, standing on increasingly unsteady legs to finish undressing. He gasped sharply as Gabriel’s arm snaked around his waist, drawing the friar back against the hunter’s well-muscled chest.

Gabriel knew full well what he wanted, and what he wanted was to rut the redhead into the nearest convenient piece of furniture until they were both too spent to move.
Carl moaned softly, managing to extricate himself from Gabriel’s grasp, he knew now that it was inevitable that they were going to lie together. Or, more accurately, that the hunter was going to take him, and he knew that they would need something to ease the passage.
Carl gently pressed the other man down to sit on the cot, “I’ve got to get some oil, I’ll be right back.”

Gabriel caught the friar’s wrist, nuzzling his palm, eyes hungry and voice little more than a growl as he demanded, “Mine.”
Carl nodded, gently tugging against the other man’s hold, trying to get his hand free, “Yes, yes, yours.” He gestured towards his bag with his free hand, “I'm just going to get some oil so we can do this properly, without tearing me to ribbons.”
The hunter seemed to understand that at least, releasing his companion’s wrist, eyes never leaving the other man as he moved, retrieving a green glass vial from one of the pockets in his bag, it was a moment’s deliberation before he folded to his knees beside the hunter’s calves, the position was nothing new to him, he was a friar after all, what he was about to do next however, was something he’d only ever read about.

He unstoppered the vial, smiling slightly at the warm scent of cloves, surprised that his hands weren’t shaking.
Clove was for numbing, he knew that, and hoped that it would be enough to numb himself without numbing the hunter too much.
Gabriel growled softly at the scent, fingers trailing automatically through the other man’s hair, his arousal already straining upwards against his belly, almost painfully hard.
Carl was attempting to convince himself that muscles were designed to stretch, and yes, it would fit.

The hunter growled softly again when the friar’s oil-slicked fingers curled around the base of his shaft, the touch tentative, teasing in its uncertainty, “Teeth?” His voice was still little more than a growl, and Carl wasn’t sure if Gabriel’s having been reduced to monosyllables was a good sign or a bad one.
His brow furrowed slightly at the question, but he leaned in slowly -and offered a silent prayer to the Lord not to smite him for this, since Gabriel would likely be caught in the crossfire- before running the edges of his teeth along the ridge of the hunter’s need.
Judging by the soft gasp, that was exactly what he’d been after.

Carl smiled slightly –mostly at the lack of smiting- and did it again, drawing back as Gabriel’s fingers tightened in his hair.
Carl was doing his best not to realize that this was a classic case of the blind leading the blind as he rose slightly, brow furrowing in concentration as he stroked the hunter’s staff slowly, coating the rigid flesh with a goodly amount of the oil, the look of sheer bliss on Gabriel’s face was what cemented things for the friar. The knowledge that he himself was the cause of the hunter’s pleasure only resolved him to strive further.

It was then that Carl snapped awake, blinking rapidly in the pre-dawn light of his room, reality snapping back into place suddenly, causing him to groan, flopping back against the pillows, arm draping over his eyes.
The dreams had been more frequent since their return from Transylvania, and he had often entertained the idea of acting on them, but he wouldn’t, not until he was positive that Gabriel wouldn’t kill him for it.
The friar sighed heavily and went about cleaning himself up to get ready for the rest of his day.