dumbshow | the critically acclaimed open post

You're telling me...

[It could be worse, he almost says, but he doesn't need to be made fun of for wallowing again. He pushes himself up to sitting with a wince, but at least he doesn't slap his dirty hands all over his clean wound. For a second he almost does, but no, he's good. It's good.]

Your bedside manner is terrible, by the way.

What would you prefer?

[He's just going to . . . edge all up in his space, okay, it's fine. He's got to reach around him again and again to wrap the bandages around his torso, and given the size of the wound, that's going to take a while. And it means that he has to reposition himself: one leg slipping between Trevor's, his hips held up so technically, he's not outright straddling his thigh. His head ducks down, his hands moving by feeling and muscle memory alone-- and while it's likely unfortunate to have a vampire by your throat, his breath hot and even, it's not the worst position they've been in.]

["An actual bed," Trevor almost quips back at him, part innuendo and part honest (sleeping on the ground for as long as he has is grating at best). It dies in his throat when Alucard slides easily into his space, lithe frame obscuring his view of the fire and a light, almost incidental pressure of a leg pressed between his own. It's nothing like being pinned to the floor the way he'd wound up when they met, obviously, for god's sake— but Trevor can't help but think that not long ago he'd never have let a vampire within spitting distance of himself, let alone... this.

He doesn't even like Alucard, he thinks as he half-heartedly brushes dirt off his hand on his pant leg before settling that hand on Alucard's hip. To keep him steady, of course, so he doesn't tip forward and puncture anything important with that mouth of his. The bastard, and so on.]

You could start by pretending you don't think I'm an idiot.

[Just a suggestion. Trevor is, uh, flexible with it. He lifts his other hand without thinking to reach around behind Alucard and gather up his several tons of hair and pull it back over his shoulder-- just so it's out of his face, since Alucard has taken it upon himself to climb over him like this. Only reason.]

[For a moment, Alucard holds himself very, very still, as only a vampire can. Only his eyes move, slowly sliding upwards, an eerily animal gesture that holds no actual aggression. There's tension coiled in his body, but that's not a bad thing.]

I don't think you're an idiot.

[Mostly. Sort of. He's got a lot of complicated feelings about Trevor Belmont, but though he acts a complete fool, there's a difference between him and, say, some sheep-fucking peasant. He's not dull. He's committed to his not-caring act, so much so Alucard suspects he even believes it himself at times. And yes, he's annoying, he's decidedly immature, but . . . that doesn't equate to idiot.

His hands resume their pattern, though his hip slowly relaxes into Trevor's grip.]

But tell me: was there a specific incident to which you're referring? Or was that a general request?

[Trevor raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. Has he been imagining all of Alucard's smartass comments, then? What could all of his antagonizing possibly be for but that?

One of these days, someone will sit Trevor down and inform him that his self-esteem is buried deeper than the Belmont Hold, but Sypha is busy and Alucard has the motivational power of a wet paper bag, so for now it's this: the vague feeling that he is indeed a worthless moron, so persistent that he doesn't even notice it anymore.

Still, it's hard to say whether or not he really disbelieves the alternative, when Alucard says it himself. He could use some receipts, at least.]

Uh, in general. I'm not cataloging every time you've insulted me, don't flatter yourself.

Ahh.

[It's hard to tell sometimes if Trevor realizes he's flirting, or if he's as unconscious of it as he is other parts of his life. Probably the latter, if the past few minutes have been any judge-- although, he thinks, pushing against Trevor's hand lightly, he is holding on to him, so perhaps there's hope after all.

God, but he smells good. That's his vampiric side talking; his human side balks, but all his tongue cares about right now is the steady pulse pounding away in his neck. He's so close, and no, he won't do anything, he's not uncivilized, but good god . . . he almost licks his lips, and would, if he didn't think there was a reasonable chance Trevor would freak out instead of take it as a tease.

Although--]

Your pulse is elevated.

[He says, as his hands come around to his front one last time and slide against his chest. It's to tie off the bandage, obviously, he can't help the brush of his fingers there.]

[If Alucard would please stop pointing these things out, that would be fantastic. He lets out a chuckle that has an edge of surprise to it, like he can't believe Alucard chooses that of all things to say at this precise moment. But then he'd have to be thinking of something else he expected him to say, and he has... nothing necessarily specific. Just something less clinical than talking about his pulse.

So he laughs and maybe it means nothing at all, but he does very intentionally squeeze Alucard's hip, almost as if he's about to toss him off. He doesn't.]

Well-spotted. I thought I told you to stop doing that.

[Checking his pulse is not smelling him, as such, but quit it. Vampires!]

And I told you that I can't help it.

[He really can't. He can help pointing it out, but that's a different thing entirely. Pulling at the edges of the bandages, he sits back just slightly-- he's done, clearly, and yet he doesn't climb out of his lap.

He actually settles into it a bit more, resting lightly against Trevor's thigh.]

Why is your pulse raised, Trevor?

[Not telling him about it is implied and Alucard is an asshole, congratulations. An asshole who is now simply sitting on his lap, something Trevor has not adequately prepared himself for.]

Maybe I'm dying, Alucard. You've caught me in my last desperate attempts to tolerate you before my heart gives out entirely.

["Tolerate you," he says, drumming his fingers against the sharp angle of his hip. Tolerating.]

Is that right.

[His voice has dropped an octave, because Trevor isn't fooling anyone. If he was going to protest, he would have shoved him out of his lap by now.

His hands slide up, delicate fingers tracing up his chest, sliding up his neck, until he sets them lightly against his jawline. He's delightfully scruffy, in bad need of a shave. His breath smells a little of alcohol (and there's a warning in the back of his mind, a hideous little thought that says that he's setting himself up for pain if Trevor is drunk). And yet somehow, impossibly, he's attracted to him.]

Well. If that's so, you might as well go out on a positive note.

[He tips his head up slowly, telegraphing his movements as deliberately as he can. He's retracted his fangs for the moment, and so it's with a decidedly human mouth he kisses Trevor, the movement firm but not overwhelming.]

[Even the look he puts on, playing at being exasperated, can't convince anyone that he's going to stop this, especially not Alucard. On some level Trevor knows this, knows that he could have rolled away into the darkness or something equally clear as a "no" a long time ago, if he was going to stop this. On another level Trevor knows he's been thinking about those delicate hands since Alucard first came at him with a medicine-soaked cloth, and to have fingers trail over his skin without excuse or apology excites him in a way he hasn't felt in... he doesn't know how long.

(On yet another level, something about this almost feels inevitable, if only for the irony. The last of the Belmonts and the son of Dracula— he can feel his ancestors turning in their graves from here.)

Alucard moves in to kiss him in what seems like slow motion, making it so obvious, so unmistakable, and Trevor can briefly see the vulnerability behind the sarcasm and the attitude. The willingness to be vulnerable, considering that a vampire kissing a Belmont is the stuff of Church zealots propaganda. That is overwhelming, and so he shuts his eyes and winds his arm all the way around Alucard's waist instead of facing it head-on.

Trevor does not grab at him with a sudden surge of lust, nor is he stunned into stillness. But he moves slowly, his unoccupied hand sliding up into Alucard's hair and holding him close, tilting his own head to return the kiss with a vulnerability of his own that he really does not mean to share, shut up in advance.]

[Good. Good. He'd been half-afraid Trevor would suddenly change his mind, repulsion or shock or what have you overpowering his attraction. But no, no-- he seems willing, if not overwhelmingly eager just yet, and Alucard will take what he can get.

He relaxes fully against him, settling into his lap properly this time, hips settling against his thigh. That's a position he's been fantasizing about for a while, if he's being honest. He likes Trevor's leg between his, thick and hard; it's only with breathtaking self-control that he doesn't grind down wantonly.

But that might scare Trevor off. And beyond that . . . this moment feels so oddly sweet. He hadn't expected that. The odd softness of his mouth; the soft way he returns his kisses, each push and pull of his mouth hungry and needy.

Lonely. That's the word for it. The two of them are such lonely creatures, touch-starved and desperate for affection. He sighs into the kiss, his fingers sliding lazily over his shoulders, winding around his neck.]

[Alucard's weight in his lap is barely anything, if he's being honest, but it's just enough for Trevor to appreciate. He isn't thinking about things like where and when to grind against Alucard or what he'd look like bare, pale skin lit only by a dying fire and the moonlight. He's thought about that kind of thing plenty of times already-- more than a handful of nights spent staring at the sky instead of sleeping, mind stuck on a loop of Sypha and Alucard and all manner of things to do with them concurrent and consecutive, over and over--

But this is not that; this is something different, maybe a prelude or maybe not, Alucard in his arms and not giving him attitude for once. Trevor kisses him slowly, chest tightening from the same abrupt awareness of just how lonely they both are. Neither of them have anyone left, not really, and the feeling is so oppressive Trevor feels like they might just sink into the earth from the weight of their combined solitude.

Not a great emotion for kissing, he thinks. His shoulders shake with a silent laugh, sick of his own self-deprecating for once, and he tugs Alucard closer in his lap.

When the kiss reaches its natural end he murmurs, still close to Alucard's lips,] Now how's my pulse?

[wreck him]

[He grins against his lips, amused in the best possible way. Perhaps he guesses where Trevor's thoughts lie. Certainly he's forcibly preventing his own thoughts from flitting in that direction; this trip is depressing enough as it is without thoughts of grief and patricide to color his makeout session with a fucking Belmont.

But thank god, Trevor says something.]

Not as high as it could be.

[He grinds down pointedly, rocking himself against Trevor's thigh with a disgusting amount of grace. No one should be able to fuck themselves on someone else with that amount of grace, but here they are, and Alucard is a flashy bastard at the worst of times. His eyes snap up, and he nips at his bottom lip as he adds:]

Or maybe you need more direct inspiration?

[One hand flits down, and-- ah, hello, there's the front of his trousers. He isn't hard yet, but he will be. And maybe they'll fuck and maybe they won't, but there's no harm in teasing, right?]

[Well, it may be the most obvious way to take both their minds off how miserable they are, but that doesn't mean it isn't working when Alucard grinds down against him. He's infuriating, Trevor thinks, all lean muscle and built like he's been carved out of fucking marble. It is actually quite annoying how good he looks like that, grinding against Trevor's thigh like it was put on this godforsaken earth solely for Alucard to make use of it, Jesus Christ--]

Is that what we're calling it now? Inspiration, he says...

[He lets go of Alucard's waist to trace fingers down his arm, closing around his wrist, but he isn't pulling his hand away in the slightest. The opposite, in fact, as he presses himself against Alucard's hand with a slow exhale. Even if they go no further than even this, it feels good just to be touched by someone else.

'Someone else' being his egregiously attractive jerkass vampire companion is immaterial, for now.]

Alright then, big shot. Inspire me, why don't you.

[How many times will he go through that internal sigh of relief and elation? A terror that he'll be rejected as Trevor's fingers wrap around his wrist, followed by the shocked relief that no, he's happy here, he wants this, he wants him-- it's pathetic, and he knows it doesn't show on his face, but good god, it's pathetic all the same.

Oh, well. Better things to focus on right now. Better people, and he hums softly as he ducks his head, nosing just beneath Trevor's jaw. It's oddly affectionate, but he covers for that by the way the heel of his hand presses in: hard pressure, teasing him through his trousers. Sypha's not twenty feet away, and he certainly doesn't want to do something so disrespectful as fuck in front of her while she's asleep, but there's nothing wrong with riling Belmont up.

Or with nipping at his jaw, just to see how he'll react.]

[He's infuriating, Alucard— intelligent and attractive and arrogant, obnoxious, smug, take your pick. All of them rolled into one even now, softened around the edges only by the surprisingly gentle way he leans into Trevor. He notices, of course, and notices much more the insistent pressure of Alucard's hand against him. A sharp intake of breath betrays just how long it's been since someone's touched him like this, let alone someone he's had more than a three-minute conversation with.

He lets go of Alucard's wrist to squeeze his hip again, harder, digging in with his fingertips to stop himself making too much noise over such a simple touch. And Sypha is just nearby, close enough to still be visible in the fading firelight, and he'd rather explain this to her when she inevitably finds out later, not during.]

Alucard— [he speaks in a low voice, not quite a warning. At this point he has to honestly admit that he trusts Alucard not to snap and rip both his and Sypha's throats out, but every Belmont nerve in his body screams in protest the moment he feels teeth. The rest of his nerves are pretty damn on board with all of it if the speed he's starting to get hard is any indication, but...

Well take it slow, tiger.]

[The instant his name slips past Trevor's lips, his lips replace his teeth. He doesn't stop, but there's no hint of sharpness anymore-- though his tongue darts out, sliding lightly against his pulsepoint. His fingers keep moving, languid in their ministrations, content to sate him without actually satisfying him.]

How long has it been, hm?

[Focus on that, instead. The iron grip he has on Alucard's hip, the stutter of his heated breath . . . oh, it's been a long while.]

[It's been long enough, and Trevor grinds his teeth in frustration for it. Alucard has given no sign that he'll go further than groping him through his trousers, and that's good, god is that good, it's embarrassing how eager he finds himself, ready to rock his hips against Alucard's hand until he's satisfied himself--]

Too long, [is what he says, and that's honest, so please appreciate it. He slides his other hand around Alucard's waist to his back, then down to grope his ass and press up with the thigh Alucard is still straddling. Something occurs to him then, so naturally he has to run his mouth about it:]

You've been asleep for a year, and living at home with dear old dad before that... Have you ever--?

[Um.

There's just a moment of hesitation, a half-second's pause that lasts too long. Um, interrupted by the filthy (literally, god, has he even washed that hand) hand that snakes down and grabs at him. It's a hell of a feeling, more than enough to leave him squirming; he grinds back down, rocking his hips.

He's unfairly graceful about it, but he's unfairly graceful about everything. The fluidity with which he moves is no indicator of experience-- and confidence is easy to fake, especially with Trevor, especially when you can smell someone's attraction towards you.]

Do you want an itemized list?

[He brushed his hands off on his pants which is the most Alucard is getting out of him while he's still dressed, thanks much. Trevor grins, unreasonably pleased by the way Alucard squirms in his lap, as if this is a competition and he's finally made it into the running.

Still, this other thing-- he really, really wants to know it now. He can focus on several things at once; Alucard's hand on him and the needy rock of his hips and whether or not Alucard, son of Dracula, is a goddamned virgin. Please, he has to know--]

Yes, actually. That would be great.

[He's not embarrassed, all right? It's nothing to be ashamed about. He's twenty, that's plenty of time to find a wife (or husband). No one is married at their age, despite what modern scholars seem to think of this time period. Sure, most men have fucked one or two people by now, but just because he hasn't doesn't mean anything's wrong.

Anyway, it's not as if he had a booming social life. Sometimes he'd go with his mother and visit the peasants, but he'd never made friends. And taking a girl out behind a bar seemed so . . . impersonal.

Look, the point is . . . the point is, there's nothing to be embarrassed about, but nor does he want to say it, because Trevor will make it into a Thing. So. Shut up.]

Later.

[It's a low growl, a rumble felt against Trevor's throat as much as it's heard. Not influential, not magic, but a predator's growl, warning of danger at worst and mild irritation at best. It reaches into most human hindbrains and sends them running.

Trevor isn't most humans.

He sighs pointedly and rocks his hips down again, his palm pressing harder. Trevor isn't the only one stiff and eager; each slow grind of his hips leaves him biting back shudders, and he thinks he could honestly get off just from this, heat and pressure and a hard leg between his.]

[Oh-- oh, he is a virgin, how delightful. Sure, there's nothing innately wrong with that, and Trevor's storied past of a few ruinous mistakes in cheap inns is objectively more embarrassing, if they're being honest, but sometimes he has the maturity of a teenager and this is definitely one of those times. It's going to be such a Thing.

But later, like Alucard insists, low and animal against his skin, and there's a definite danger there that Trevor knows like the back of his hand. The danger his family wrote about and told stories about, a reminder that Alucard is a fucking vampire and really-- well, being the last Belmont means no one is going to catch him at a family gathering and berate him for the way that almost bestial growl goes straight to his groin.

Goddamn it, Alucard.]

Alright, [he says, and squeezes Alucard closer. The still rather gaping wound on his chest, while neatly wrapped, stops him from doing much besides pressing up into Alucard's hand, but it doesn't matter. It's been so long and he's spent half this trip thinking up ways to fuck Alucard against the nearest available surface, he's a spring of sexual tension wound far too tightly.]

Try not to make a mess.

[At least he can feel Trevor's cock actually twitch beneath his hand as he growls; that's something to hold on to later, when the man is merciless in his teasing. It's as pleasing as it is amusing, and he wishes they had the proper space to do this-- in a bed, with warmth and lights and not in front of their beloved third companion, who will assuredly be upset if she wakes up. ]

You're one to talk.

[It's just as low, though there's no accompanying growl. Possibly because it's not entirely inaccurate; he's outright straining against his leather trousers, each buck of his hips more intense than the last, needy for the pressure he provides.

He wants to stop, sort of-- not because he's not enjoying this, but because he is, and he's either going to lose his good sense and ride Belmont for all he's worth or just come in his pants, and either scenario isn't great. But there's also the added pressure of not coming in second, the virgin stopping before the experienced one does, so--

He jerks back, staring down at Trevor, as his hand slows.]

You're going to open your wound.

[This is not another ruinous mistake, Trevor thinks, at least not yet-- there's always the chance of something going horribly wrong, but at the moment it's going rather well. Maybe well enough for him to admit that, yes, he gives a shit about Alucard and did even before he was rocking desperately against his thigh and looking far too pretty about it.

Maybe. If he comes in his pants he knows he'll never live it down, but the steadily mounting need to feel as much of Alucard as he can puts all other thoughts of the sort-of-immediate future out of his mind. He has half a mind to hook an arm under him and get up, find a tree to pin Alucard against, assuming he can lift him the first place (probably, Alucard might be strong but that doesn't mean he's considerably slimmer than Trevor himself--)]

Christ— What?

[The sudden- not stop, but drop in intensity makes him blink stupidly at Alucard for a moment, mouth open like he doesn't even know what those words mean in that order. He looks down. Interesting concern, but consider this instead: he's really hot and bothered now.]

No, I'm... not?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject