[He doesn't. Not over the next few days, and not ever again. Alucard's careful when he cooks. Makes sure that Sypha's diet is rich in protein, with meat for one meal and then lentils or beans the other two. She gets snacks. Alucard writes down her progress once a day, and she gets to the point where she can contact her people.
But it takes time to beat back how close she was to death. When she rests, Alucard sees other patients again. Goes out sometimes, other times has some come to him. He's warm and familiar and as soft as he can be during those moments, even when the news is bad.
He's given affection in return. His patients pay in coin or in food or when they can. Old women come into his home fussing and then staying for tea, and Alucard introduces Trevor to them. My long term patient's companion and an old friend from Wallachia. It gets Trevor fussed over as well, as Alucard's grandmothers know how little he speaks of Wallachia.
In the evening hours, Alucard rests on his little sofa, but also against Trevor. The kisses are slow and cautious, but they're there and there's a quiet joy in every single one.
The week ends. The sun sets, and the last call to prayer echoes through the city. Alucard's routine for the week concludes with a last walk, one that he's taking Trevor on.
He made sure to explain the bathhouse's concept and etiquette earlier in the day. That you strip down, you walk into the baths with a towel around your waist, but most men drop it afterwards. That you don't stare, but you're free to be social - and Alucard often isn't.
Which means that here, now, Alucard's absolutely nude and lying on a warm marble slab in the bath's hot room. A beautiful domed thing with fine stone on every surface, there is a central slab where men congregate. Some washed. Others talking. And around the room are smaller little siloed areas with smaller stones to lie on, buckets of water under facuets, and fine fixtures.
It isn't the most beautiful of the hamams in the city, but it doesn't have to be. It's local, and Alucard has his little spot in one of the silos where he can lie down and let the week's grime shed itself.
His feet and their scars are obvious. But no one asks here.]
no subject
[He doesn't. Not over the next few days, and not ever again. Alucard's careful when he cooks. Makes sure that Sypha's diet is rich in protein, with meat for one meal and then lentils or beans the other two. She gets snacks. Alucard writes down her progress once a day, and she gets to the point where she can contact her people.
But it takes time to beat back how close she was to death. When she rests, Alucard sees other patients again. Goes out sometimes, other times has some come to him. He's warm and familiar and as soft as he can be during those moments, even when the news is bad.
He's given affection in return. His patients pay in coin or in food or when they can. Old women come into his home fussing and then staying for tea, and Alucard introduces Trevor to them. My long term patient's companion and an old friend from Wallachia. It gets Trevor fussed over as well, as Alucard's grandmothers know how little he speaks of Wallachia.
In the evening hours, Alucard rests on his little sofa, but also against Trevor. The kisses are slow and cautious, but they're there and there's a quiet joy in every single one.
The week ends. The sun sets, and the last call to prayer echoes through the city. Alucard's routine for the week concludes with a last walk, one that he's taking Trevor on.
He made sure to explain the bathhouse's concept and etiquette earlier in the day. That you strip down, you walk into the baths with a towel around your waist, but most men drop it afterwards. That you don't stare, but you're free to be social - and Alucard often isn't.
Which means that here, now, Alucard's absolutely nude and lying on a warm marble slab in the bath's hot room. A beautiful domed thing with fine stone on every surface, there is a central slab where men congregate. Some washed. Others talking. And around the room are smaller little siloed areas with smaller stones to lie on, buckets of water under facuets, and fine fixtures.
It isn't the most beautiful of the hamams in the city, but it doesn't have to be. It's local, and Alucard has his little spot in one of the silos where he can lie down and let the week's grime shed itself.
His feet and their scars are obvious. But no one asks here.]