Till Death Do Us Reunite
folder
S through Z › Van Helsing
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,761
Reviews:
4
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0
Currently Reading:
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Category:
S through Z › Van Helsing
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,761
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Van Helsing, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Till Death Do Us Reunite
Title: Till Death Do Us Reunite
Pairing: Gabriel/Dracula
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: First Van Helsing fic. Possibly inaccurate, as my memory is often shoddy. PWP-ish.
Van Helsing was headed towards the bedroom provided by his gracious host. It was awkward to be invited in by someone whose son you had killed only days before-- no matter how estranged they might have been, and supper was predictably full of uncomfortable silences. He looked forward to a quiet night for a change, away from wild animals and gypsies in the forest, or crazed, boisterous tavern lodgers. What the door revealed to him when he opened it, however, was a certain son he thought he had killed.
“But you should be…” Van Helsing looked over the man before him—the man he had killed and saw buried. “…I stood with your father at the funeral…”
“And a grand affair that was, I must hope,” the Count said, taking a moment to examine his fingernails. He looked more pale and stately than ever before.
“I’m sorry, Vladis.” The stake trembled, but tears would not come for this second death. “But it’s always vampire season in Rome.” He drove it in, breaching the breastbone with an ugly crunch. Pain colored Dracula’s features only for a moment, before he launched himself forward—the stake coming clean through, and his bloodless wound pressing itself into Van Helsing’s weathered cloak. Nothing ever seemed to work as it should against evil these days.
“Come, let us not keep you standing, shall we?” The man reached behind and extracted the stake out the other side. It slipped through Van Helsing’s hands with ease, for though he had faced all of Europe’s devilries, he had never known one so intimately. The Count walked backwards, pulling Van Helsing along. No awkward precautions or turning of the head—the vampire’s soft tread was practically a glide along the stone floor.
“I knew you since you were nothing but a child…” Van Helsing said, just as Dracula stopped at the bed’s edge. Tears threatened to appear in eyes that had been dry for centuries. How it had hurt to kill one of the few people he managed to befriend in this ephemeral world. Sold to the devil—and damned forever now, even more so. Van Helsing felt the cold of the metal cross against his chest, and wondered why it did not burn him—him who lived without memory or fear for his life, always in pursuit of evil, but undeniably fascinated as much as repulsed by it.
“Did you like what you saw in those years? I know I did, Gabriel,” The lips parted to reveal teeth—grinning, gleaming, but not a hint of the fangs visible. “Your ‘terrible secret,’ which made you decline my offers when I was still young-- your burden, as you like to refer to it-- is immortality. For some of us it can be a blessing, you know.”
Van Helsing stood petrified, as Dracula peeled away his clothing layer by layer. “You know—only strays and vagabonds wear their entire wardrobe on themselves like this.” Van Helsing gritted his teeth, less at the insult, than at the way it trickled out so throatily. He only gasped raggedly as the slender groomed fingers worked off his belt. There was no turning back, and he took off his weapons himself, not taking his eyes off Dracula who sat down gracefully onto the velvet coverlet.
“Death has emasculated many of my appetites. But it has created others…”
Van Helsing's chest was finally bare, the definitions of the muscles and underlying bones accented by stark shadows in the scanty light of the two flickering candles at the head of the bed. He was only now aware of a strong scent of frankincense in the room.
“Procreation…”
Van Helsing cast off his hat and plunged down to take off the soiled boots. He may have disgraced himself by walking into a respectable household tracking in mud, but he would not sully the bed.
“…Debauchery…” Dracula’s eyes emphasized the word with a spark.
“Forgive me, Father,” Van Helsing muttered, kissing the crucifix around his neck, before taking it off.
“…And blood.” Van Helsing’s body stopped short, bent over Dracula’s body, which was partially denuded as well.
“You will not infect me with your curse,” Van Helsing said, pinning both wrists of the creature under him.
“I’m glad to see you’re not greedy for any more immortality,” Dracula smiled briefly, before his dark eyes fluttered shut.
“Gabriel…” he gasped out as he felt himself impaled once again.
The hunter rocked against the hunted, waves of bliss punctuated by lightning strikes in that forever-gloomy country of Transylvania. Van Helsing conscientiously avoided Dracula’s lips, though his own burned for contact. He contented himself with the strand of hair not tucked back into the clip-- black but luminous, like hematite. His own bedraggled strands fell carelessly against Dracula’s pale cheek, stroking back and forth as his head moved.
Dracula’s first posthumous climax engulfed him in unparalleled bliss. He felt his shoulder blades bursting with it—gargantuan wings sprouting out to the sides, quickly folding forward around his lover. Van Helsing came as soon as he felt the sensuous brush of strange, almost reptilian skin on the top of his nude body. The wings flapped open again, and blew out the candles.
“You have given me something—and for that I am grateful,” Dracula rasped, his eyes still aglow with unnatural light. “But I must feed.”
Van Helsing’s eyelid drooped acquiescence with contented fatigue, and if there was any doubt remaining, his head fell to the side, suctioning in the Count’s own neck forcefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out Dracula's jaws stretch obscenely wide.
He arched away when two fangs penetrated his neck. But his clenched teeth relaxed as he felt a hypnotic throbbing growing in his injury to replace the pain. He relaxed back into Dracula’s chest, feeling a faint heartbeat beginning to come awake inside that silent ribcage. His body was growing colder, even as his lover's finally heated to match his previous ardour. The wings were shrinking back, making it even easier for Van Helsing to forget what an evil he was now feeding and succumb to the approaching giddy darkness instead of worrying about having to fight this man the next day. Year. Century.
“I will not bleed you dry, Gabriel,” Dracula murmured, wiping his smiling lips. A belated sexual flush was finally coloring his chest beneath Van Helsing’s unconscious head.
Pairing: Gabriel/Dracula
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: First Van Helsing fic. Possibly inaccurate, as my memory is often shoddy. PWP-ish.
Van Helsing was headed towards the bedroom provided by his gracious host. It was awkward to be invited in by someone whose son you had killed only days before-- no matter how estranged they might have been, and supper was predictably full of uncomfortable silences. He looked forward to a quiet night for a change, away from wild animals and gypsies in the forest, or crazed, boisterous tavern lodgers. What the door revealed to him when he opened it, however, was a certain son he thought he had killed.
“But you should be…” Van Helsing looked over the man before him—the man he had killed and saw buried. “…I stood with your father at the funeral…”
“And a grand affair that was, I must hope,” the Count said, taking a moment to examine his fingernails. He looked more pale and stately than ever before.
“I’m sorry, Vladis.” The stake trembled, but tears would not come for this second death. “But it’s always vampire season in Rome.” He drove it in, breaching the breastbone with an ugly crunch. Pain colored Dracula’s features only for a moment, before he launched himself forward—the stake coming clean through, and his bloodless wound pressing itself into Van Helsing’s weathered cloak. Nothing ever seemed to work as it should against evil these days.
“Come, let us not keep you standing, shall we?” The man reached behind and extracted the stake out the other side. It slipped through Van Helsing’s hands with ease, for though he had faced all of Europe’s devilries, he had never known one so intimately. The Count walked backwards, pulling Van Helsing along. No awkward precautions or turning of the head—the vampire’s soft tread was practically a glide along the stone floor.
“I knew you since you were nothing but a child…” Van Helsing said, just as Dracula stopped at the bed’s edge. Tears threatened to appear in eyes that had been dry for centuries. How it had hurt to kill one of the few people he managed to befriend in this ephemeral world. Sold to the devil—and damned forever now, even more so. Van Helsing felt the cold of the metal cross against his chest, and wondered why it did not burn him—him who lived without memory or fear for his life, always in pursuit of evil, but undeniably fascinated as much as repulsed by it.
“Did you like what you saw in those years? I know I did, Gabriel,” The lips parted to reveal teeth—grinning, gleaming, but not a hint of the fangs visible. “Your ‘terrible secret,’ which made you decline my offers when I was still young-- your burden, as you like to refer to it-- is immortality. For some of us it can be a blessing, you know.”
Van Helsing stood petrified, as Dracula peeled away his clothing layer by layer. “You know—only strays and vagabonds wear their entire wardrobe on themselves like this.” Van Helsing gritted his teeth, less at the insult, than at the way it trickled out so throatily. He only gasped raggedly as the slender groomed fingers worked off his belt. There was no turning back, and he took off his weapons himself, not taking his eyes off Dracula who sat down gracefully onto the velvet coverlet.
“Death has emasculated many of my appetites. But it has created others…”
Van Helsing's chest was finally bare, the definitions of the muscles and underlying bones accented by stark shadows in the scanty light of the two flickering candles at the head of the bed. He was only now aware of a strong scent of frankincense in the room.
“Procreation…”
Van Helsing cast off his hat and plunged down to take off the soiled boots. He may have disgraced himself by walking into a respectable household tracking in mud, but he would not sully the bed.
“…Debauchery…” Dracula’s eyes emphasized the word with a spark.
“Forgive me, Father,” Van Helsing muttered, kissing the crucifix around his neck, before taking it off.
“…And blood.” Van Helsing’s body stopped short, bent over Dracula’s body, which was partially denuded as well.
“You will not infect me with your curse,” Van Helsing said, pinning both wrists of the creature under him.
“I’m glad to see you’re not greedy for any more immortality,” Dracula smiled briefly, before his dark eyes fluttered shut.
“Gabriel…” he gasped out as he felt himself impaled once again.
The hunter rocked against the hunted, waves of bliss punctuated by lightning strikes in that forever-gloomy country of Transylvania. Van Helsing conscientiously avoided Dracula’s lips, though his own burned for contact. He contented himself with the strand of hair not tucked back into the clip-- black but luminous, like hematite. His own bedraggled strands fell carelessly against Dracula’s pale cheek, stroking back and forth as his head moved.
Dracula’s first posthumous climax engulfed him in unparalleled bliss. He felt his shoulder blades bursting with it—gargantuan wings sprouting out to the sides, quickly folding forward around his lover. Van Helsing came as soon as he felt the sensuous brush of strange, almost reptilian skin on the top of his nude body. The wings flapped open again, and blew out the candles.
“You have given me something—and for that I am grateful,” Dracula rasped, his eyes still aglow with unnatural light. “But I must feed.”
Van Helsing’s eyelid drooped acquiescence with contented fatigue, and if there was any doubt remaining, his head fell to the side, suctioning in the Count’s own neck forcefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out Dracula's jaws stretch obscenely wide.
He arched away when two fangs penetrated his neck. But his clenched teeth relaxed as he felt a hypnotic throbbing growing in his injury to replace the pain. He relaxed back into Dracula’s chest, feeling a faint heartbeat beginning to come awake inside that silent ribcage. His body was growing colder, even as his lover's finally heated to match his previous ardour. The wings were shrinking back, making it even easier for Van Helsing to forget what an evil he was now feeding and succumb to the approaching giddy darkness instead of worrying about having to fight this man the next day. Year. Century.
“I will not bleed you dry, Gabriel,” Dracula murmured, wiping his smiling lips. A belated sexual flush was finally coloring his chest beneath Van Helsing’s unconscious head.