I'd take their destruction as a necessary sacrifice, I think.
[There's a fleeting notion -- one Trevor won't lend any credence to whatsoever -- to cross the distance between them and assist with the process. Those things are clingy, and he can't imagine it'll be easy to peel them off now that he's got them on. But on the other hand, he's fairly sure it will invite some manner of scorn, because Adrian's mastered undressing just as well as anyone, and... Well.
It will be interesting enough just to watch him struggle if it comes to that.
Trevor's nearly finished off his drink through this entire ordeal, and scarcely notices until the straw starts making an obnoxious sound whenever he sips. SLUUUUUUUURP. Pity.]
Let me know if you need help.
[Like hell. He is staying right where he is and enjoying the show.]
[They might just rip anyway, even if Alucard is as careful as can be as he works the damn things down to around his thighs. It's a process that involves a bit of deeply undignified wiggling (absolutely a show by accident), and a few moments of pacing around to try and find a better angle to get the damn things off. The struggle? The struggle is so real.]
Help? Trevor, you're treating this like it's a film, obnoxious straw slurping and all.
[But the stupid things are at Alucard's knees now, and from there, no struggle remains. Alucard slides the leggings off entirely and kicks them to the side. Alucard's legs are most certainly not their usual pale selves at the moment, but rather a faint red from the return of circulation to the areas that were starting to be cut off. Satisfied with that and that alone, Alucard makes his way over and sits himself at the edge of the bed, relieved.]
Well, we now know that I look amazing in them as predicted, but unless they make leggings for men, we should not do that again any time soon.
[Trevor's going to make it his new duty to find them. Quietly. Without drawing attention to it until he's succeeded. He can be damn resourceful when he puts his mind to it. Or perhaps it's just dumb luck. But no one would fault him for trying.]
Amazing is giving yourself quite a lot of credit, isn't it? They were all right. Leather suits you better.
[He damn well did look amazing, but if it's possible for Trevor to give Adrian shit about something, he's jumping on the opportunity. Old habits die hard, and none harder than Trevor's tendency to ruin everything he enjoys. Genuine romance doesn't hold a candle to possible-masochism and definite-self-deprecation.]
Nothing also suits you better. [So stated, while a finger slips up Adrian's spine.]
I refuse to look at your internet search history for the next month on principle then.
[Alucard doesn't know how this is ending besides ridiculously, and that is always for both good and ill when Trevor's concerned. Oh yes, he is a man of resources, but also...this involves being an asshole. And making out. So where this lands is completely up in the air.]
You could be nicer about something you helped to encourage, you know. Even if it's against your basic nature.
[Alucard'll give as good as he gets. Trevor's self-depreciation can usually be endearing, but there are moments that it's frustrating. Especially when it runs over actual romance, which is something the dhampir does appreciate every so often.]
Is that an invitation to pick up from last night, Belmont?
[Trevor could be nicer. For what it's worth, he's trying, and not simply for his own sake. After all, when you've shared a man's bed, there are some pretenses you have to abandon purely on principle. You have to come to terms with the fact that you don't hate him anymore. You don't even dislike him. In fact, a large part of you (emphasis on large, thank you) is quite fond of him and would like to keep him around. And keep sharing his bed. Woe befall them both should he actually come to terms with that.
But Adrian shouldn't have to suffer for Trevor's penchant toward self-sabotage. If Trevor had to admit it -- and it takes some needling -- Adrian's been quite good to them, after their initial blowout. That's worth more than Trevor's probably capable of giving him, but yes, he is trying to be better.
Which is possibly why he's not being quite as pushy and brutish as usual. Blunted nails drift lazily over Adrian's back, in the closest approximation Trevor can manage to a backscratch, and he's grinning at the dhampir with one brow quirked.]
Are you offering? Because, just to be completely clear, the answer to that question will always be 'yes.'
[There's a soft hum as Trevor's fingers move down his back. For him, it's been much easier to accept whatever this weird arrangement between the three of them is, unlabeled and undefined. Alucard likes them both. A lot, not just because of time spent in the bedroom, but because it's a joy to sit around the house and be. It is easier with Sypha, but that's because Sypha understands and responds to emotions with a certain level of grace that Alucard envies. Trevor has...Trevor is Trevor. Whatever lets him kiss the dhampir is all Alucard cares about.
And if he and Sypha can drag him further away from self loathing and self sabotage in the process, then so be it.]
[Admittedly, it is, and Adrian never has to tell him twice. Resistant though Trevor may be to mere suggestion in all other aspects of their life, he's practically obedient in bed. If it's lent them a certain degree of cooperation outside the bedroom as well? That's a happy accident, but a welcome one nevertheless. Probably makes Sypha's life a hell of a lot easier, if nothing else.
They should make a go of it sometime, the three of them. Possibly even in an official capacity. Trevor's more inclined to the idea than he ever thought he'd be, but they all fit. He's not sure how to describe it in any other way, and maybe he'll suggest it someday.
Someday. Not now. Now Adrian's waiting for Trevor to come, and Trevor never keeps him waiting. One arm winds around Adrian's waist, and he pulls the dhampir into his lap as he sits up, immediately diving to shower Adrian's throat with rough kisses and tiny bites. Rough, because rugged is a kind description for the eternal state of his facial hair, and he never seems to pay it any mind against delicate skin.]
And how would you like it, my liege? [It's a quiet growl against Adrian's shoulder, and Adrian can practically feel the smirk against his neck.]
[Sypha's definitely taken notice of these sorts of things. She has also strategically not commented at all, because to do so would be to make her headache like five times worse, and scuttle both whatever is between Alucard and Trevor and herself and Trevor. The whole thing's a balancing act, and Trevor and Alucard have a very bad habit of both being bulls in the emotional china shop.
The idea of all three of them together is something Alucard's given thought to. He wants it. But...timing. There's a need for all three of them to be well and truly comfortable, and that requires more time. For now, this is more than enough.
Alucard's not one to protest with being dragged into Trevor's lap. Not when the dhampir's Ultimate Weak Point is immediately prevailed upon because yes. He's a vampire cliche and absolutely loses it when attention to his neck is involved. The eternal Belmont scruff only adds texture to the delight of it all, and one of Alucard's hands finds it's way to Trevor's hair. There's no pull or attempt to direct Trevor, it's only for want of having his hand there. The other moves to Trevor's chest, hand curling in the fabric.]
[Carry on-- bestowing orders, just as his nickname implies. 'My liege' was only half teasing when it came to fruition because Adrian can only bear so much blame for this. Trevor lavishes attention upon him because Adrian's soft, and he smells good, and Trevor is completely weak for the way Adrian's occasionally brought to mewling under his lips. It's a simple sort of fixation, but Adrian's taken Trevor for his thrall in a completely unconventional way; touch and whimpers instead of spells and blood.
Can dhampir take thralls? Ghouls? Trevor should have read that somewhere, should have remembered it. But he can't, and doesn't particularly care to when his hands are creeping beneath the back of Adrian's ridiculous ouija t-shirt, seeking out more bare skin than they've been given leave to find, but itch for nevertheless. Wandering, even as his teeth find their way to the other side of Adrian's neck, and dig in harder, careful to hold back from the point that he's learned is unpleasant from past experience.
Careful. There's a trait no one would expect to see in Trevor. It wasn't even something he'd expect to see in himself, before--
Before Adrian drove him mad, and he surrendered to madness happily.]
[In truth, Alucard could just be happy with this for hours, going no further than making out and being spoiled for attention to his neck. There are pointedly non-sharp nails that rub against Trevor's scalp, enjoying the texture of hair and skin there. Trevor's showered, which is always a wonderful thing, and this close, Alucard can get a good sniff of it mixed in with Trevor's more natural musk. There's always that and a hint of something more sacred - some kind of incense, although the source never makes sense. Alucard's chalked it up to some kind of inherited vampire hunter nonsense, like centuries of blessings and time spent in churches thick with the stuff can be passed down.
If there's to be bare skin involved in this though, there should be fairness. It's for that reason and others that Alucard's free hand decides to move low so it can get properly under Trevor's shirt. He doesn't bother with being subtle in creeping a hand slowly up either. No point. Once it's underneath Trevor's shirt, Alucard immediately puts his hand to Trevor's chest, aware that this is probably not as gentle an initial groping as he'd intended.
It's fine anyway. Trevor's entered teeth and nearly (but not quite) drawing blood into the equation, and this is simply Alucard's version of that.
A sigh of stupid satisfaction follows, loud and unrestrained and smitten with the current circumstances.]
[If Adrian pushes up much further, he's going to start breaking hems, and while Trevor's not usually fussy over his clothing, he's going to have to start. They can get carried away, and clothing is an unfortunate casualty of that fervor. Trevor pauses in his thorough defilement of Adrian's back, for the few seconds it takes to grab the neckline of his shirt and peel it off, toss it-- away, somewhere, he doesn't really care where it's landed. It frees up his body for more of Adrian's wandering hands, and that'll be reward enough.
Adrian's wiry, lithe; his shirts never seem to pull so much as shift over Trevor's grasp, greedy though it always seems to be. But his hands creep lower when they return to Adrian's back, sliding beneath his shirt only briefly before straying down, passing briefly over his ass and then grasping at his thighs. He thinks -- no, he's quite sure -- that every part of Adrian is sculpted to perfection, but his legs? Those are Trevor's favorite part of him. Never mind legs for days, he swears Adrian's stretch on for weeks, and Trevor's content to be between them for just as long.
So let them linger here for hours. What else do they have to do? Nothing more important than sucking bruises into a dhampir's neck, that's for damn sure.]
I don't give you enough credit, do I? [Trevor murmurs, muffled against Adrian's skin, as if this is really the time or place to be asking that question.]
[It's a question that comes out after a muted noise of approval with where Trevor's hands have wandered. He would have been ever so content enough to have Trevor's hands on his rear and keep them there. Sypha has a tendency to do just that, adding a touch of additional heat from his hands that always seems to make the dhampir functionally useless.
But with Trevor, it's legs. Always has been, and there's no doubt that Alucard approves of that too. There's a major artery down there that when brushed against, has a terrible tendency to escalate a situation. No wonder this entire joke ended up being taken seriously. Even if it's still ridiculous, Alucard stripped down to just his briefs now and his stupid messy bun, Trevor shirtless with Alucard's hand trying to grab every inch of skin on the man's chest.]
[And that's true enough without elaboration, but Trevor seems dead-set on truth at the moment, for whatever reason. Perhaps the miracle of God-given legs in spandex has inspired it within him. Perhaps it's just the curse of being too sober for his own good.]
For what you do for us. [That, punctuated by a drag of teeth across the tender junction of Adrian's throat and shoulder. Then...] For what you do to me.
[He could write a whole dissertation on the latter, were he so inclined. He's not inclined to do much besides exponentially inappropriate grabbing at the moment, so he'll expand upon it later. Maybe. For now, he's tilting his head up, finally catching Adrian's lips in a heated kiss. It might serve to silence a response. It might just make Adrian drag him away by his hair.
[For a moment, Alucard is thrown. Everything that has happened thus far wouldn't suggest or encourage this moment of rawness, of something close to genuineness and vulnerability. It is a side of Trevor rarely surfaced, but Alucard's met it once or twice before. He'd be a liar if he said he didn't like it. Quite the opposite - it means the world to see.
He wants to respond. Meet like with like, maybe venture a few words into the discussion that could potentially move whatever this is forward. Perhaps not label it entirely, but define a rough outline. Even simply make it clear that I care and have strong emotions for you is a true statement. (The L word is much further away, even if it floats to the surface of Alucard's mind some days.)
But there's no chance to. Trevor's deployed the reliable shut up, dhampir gesture, and all of Alucard wants to respond to it first. The heat is wonderful, and Alucard wastes little time in deepening it. He knows that at this angle, opening mouths and involving tongues might catch against his fangs, but that's an acceptable risk he'll just have to--
--ah, right. The hand still in Trevor's hair is careful as it tugs Trevor towards a slightly different angle, one less likely to brush against fangs.]
[Fangs aren't Trevor's biggest concern. Not if the following hours (or any of their encounters previously) are any indication. The slow burn always builds to an inferno, and they're carried away more often than not. But that's part of why it's good. That's part of why it works. It seems like lost parts of Trevor return to him in moments like that; in the depths of it, the hottest moments, inhibitions long-departed, Adrian sees a different side of him. A side that embraces Adrian, embraces this entire bizarre arrangement between them all, and isn't frightened of what it makes him feel.
And hours later, fire finally simmering to embers, Trevor's still wrapped around Adrian. Because the dhampir likes it warm, and Trevor's arm draped over his waist -- body pressed against his side -- is the finest means of achieving that. Reality's slow to creep back in, and Trevor enjoys the afterglow more than he cares to admit.
But even dozing, it's too much to hope that he can just shut up for a minute.]
Shall I take this to mean -- [Trevor pauses to stifle a yawn.] -- that you're a fan of leggings?
[Where this leads is far, far better than had it happened last night in the midst of drink, snuggling on a floor full of pillows, and a dozen other smaller details that have long since been forgotten. There might have been one or two rough rounds, but the impact of them? Hardly the same.
Because hours of laying in bed together, sober and so terribly in the moment, they carry a greater weight. Some of it is simply from going from a single long, slow note to a full orchestra at it's crescendo, but the rest lies in the emotions that come with it. Trevor's sober, and so everything done is a deliberate choice. Alucard's fully caught up in the moment, distracted from concerns about his parents and however that nightmare has decided to play out over the next few days. They're both present and the center of each other's focus, as close to each other as physically possible. All the kissing, groping, orgasms, everything else pales in comparison.
Or at least that's what Alucard will realize after sitting with his thoughts for some time, thinking long and hard about the past several hours. Now, still pressed close and running almost as warm at Sypha, all he can focus on is his own breathing. It's finally starting to resemble a steady, at rest rate. His eyes are closed, about to drink in the silence and--
--Of course.]
I believe the answer for both of us has been a resounding yes.
[He's too spent to offer something snappier. Or even chide the Belmont for runing a perfectly good moment.]
[Someday, Trevor will realize that he talks so that he doesn't have to think. So that when the gravity of this starts to set in, he doesn't have to acknowledge it for what it is. So that he doesn't have to stare back into the gaping, obvious void of his own feelings and give them a friendly nod. Someday, he'll have that wisdom. For now, he's tangled up with Adrian, sated again of the attention he's practically starved for, and making light of it because...
Because it's only ever confusing with Adrian anymore. But poking fun is decidedly uncomplicated.
Times like this, his fingers itch for a cigarette. Sypha made him promise to quit, and it's for the better, he knows. But it's a good excuse to roll away for a few minutes, to get away and collect himself back into some semblance of sane. God knows why he's so restless after such a pleasant night.
And just like that, he resolves to stop caring. Because Adrian's bare thigh is right there for him to grab at, and that's the only bone he wants to chase at the moment. Squeezing gently, working up to his ass and then back down, dragging Adrian's knee over Trevor's own hip for a better reach. Does an impromptu massage make up for ruining the moment with nonsense? Maybe not. But he's practically cackling nevertheless.]
They'll fit better next time. Come to think of it, how do you squeeze yourself into all that leather?
[Alucard vaguely wonders if moments should be added to the long list of prey that the Belmont family has added to their hunt over the years. Surely, surely some of this cock sure, smug, insufferable Belmont-ness must be inherited. It's far easier to ascribe a hereditary nature to certain aspects of Trevor's personality rather than reflect on how all of it is a defense mechanism to exactly how badly the world has treated the Belmonts. To think about that is to stew with anger on Trevor's behalf and want to lash out about it, and...well, that's how one goes Full Dracula.
You never go Full Dracula.
Even with vampire healing, Alucard's exhausted, and inclined to simply sleep at this point. There's a vague notion of needing to make dinner or some sort of food - it is that time of day, he thinks = but that thought is dashed with Trevor's decisions. Alucard is in no place to protest being touched again, dragged over, and having rough hands run over him. Protesting is exhausting, and he resolves to only spend energy on important things.
Which obviously means being a smartass to that question.]
[What do you want out of this? It's on his tongue, very nearly brought to fruition, before a sudden spark of annoyance murders the notion in its infancy. Because why should Trevor care? Really? Why should it be anything more than it is? It's not like he wants it to be something more.
Does he?
He's confusing their arrangement again. Granted, he only ever obfuscates this shit in his own mind; God forbid he speak of it and let Adrian in on just how much of a fucking mess he is. Like Adrian isn't intimately aware of this already, but-- He's not serious about this. Neither of them should be. It's damn good and it staves off the loneliness for a minute. That's all it needs to be.
Trevor pulls Adrian close enough to press a kiss to his temple, simple affection that's just plain dichotomous with his current line of thinking, then carefully untangles himself from the dhampir and rolls to the edge of the bed. Jeans on first, but that's all the dressing he bothers with.]
[The kiss is lovely. Being untangled from Trevor, less so. Alucard ends up lying on his stomach rather than rolling onto his side or back, one hand reaching out to rest next to Trevor. The other grabs one of the pillows and shoves it under his own head. It absolutely needs to be changed - hell, all of the sheets do after that marathon - but for right now, it'll do. At least until Trevor's back and Alucard can demand to use his chest in place of the pillow.]
Just bring the entire pitcher in and two glasses?
[It's a smarter, more elegant solution. But more than that, it's a request that Trevor actually stay. Linger even. It's the kind of request that has to be made like this, because to be bold and ask him to stay could scuttle this...whatever it is.
Alucard lets out a soft sigh at that thought. They need Sypha home already. At the very least, this is something the dhampir can talk to her about, even if it'll end in Sypha rolling her eyes and demanding everyone just sit down and talk already.]
[There's an implication there somewhere. Trevor hadn't been intending to slink off and leave Adrian alone all night, but he needs-- Something. A moment to breathe, possibly a second to think. Adrian drives out all sense and reason, and sometimes Trevor's fine with that, but other times -- like right now -- it's just...
He needs to breathe.]
As you wish, my liege.
[Trevor can't even bring himself to make Adrian suffer for his mood. Not after it's been sweet for what's possibly a record amount of time between them. Let it simmer a bit longer before Trevor turns bastard again.
It doesn't take long to get water, even a pitcher of it, with two glasses, which is what makes Trevor's lengthy disappearance somewhat worrying. The kitchen's a God-send of solitude, but the silence is deafening, and a damned drink might help quiet his mind, but they'd thoroughly polished off the last of the liquor last night. Had he thought to get more-- Had he thought, period--
Damn it all, what would Sypha do if she were home right now? Very probably smack Trevor around a bit and insist that he talk about his feelings, which has never been more out of the question, and the notion just irritates the FUCK out of him. Because all signs point to it, and he's never hated any idea more in his life.
In his life, and he there is no way he's being too dramatic about this.
Trevor's in a considerably darker mood when he returns to Adrian's room. He places a glass on Adrian's bedside table, fills it, then rounds to the other side of the bed. But he's abandoned the pitcher at the bedside table, and he's holding an empty glass in one hand. An empty glass he's still holding when he sprawls across the bedcovers, sighs, and then... Then starts glaring at it the moment he realizes it's still fucking empty.
If that's not the last goddamned straw...]
What are we doing with all this, anyway? [The tone's edging on snappy, but there's an undercurrent -- faint -- of something else. Anger, maybe. Fear?
[For the first few minutes that Trevor is gone, Alucard lays where he is, doing nothing at all and no particular thought coming into his head. Trevor will be back soon, and that will be permission to doze for several hours at least. There's no work to worry about tomorrow, which is a blessing in and of itself, and Alucard fully expects himself to sleep until noon.
Except soon passes, and Trevor doesn't return. Alucard's eyes move over to the clock that sits on his nightstand, the digital numbers telling him that more time has passed than required for such a simple errand. A soft sigh follows that revelation, and it's one laced with worry.]
Of course.
[Two words, said softly and with far more melancholy in them than even Alucard expected. This, whatever it is, it makes Trevor think too much. Alucard is no expert on the man's brain, but he can't imagine that this absence is due to happy thoughts.
He grabs a hairtie from that same nightstand and pulls all of his hair back (it is, unsurprisingly, an absolute mess and not one that's getting addressed until later). It's the only action he has any energy for, and by the time Trevor does return, Alucard is in the same position as before, the only difference being his hair's attempt at decency.
Keen gold eyes watch as Trevor settles down on the bed. Alucard doesn't reach for the water glass immediately either, not until Trevor's settled and...
...the empty glass is concerning. The question is too, but it needs to be put into the open. Sypha would demand that much of them both.]
I...I suppose that's one way to phrase it, yes. [They're words said with a slightly distant tone of voice. One that's carefully considering what to say.] But it leads to the easy response of I don't know.
[Alucard frowns at a flyaway that dares to enter his field of vision.]
[That's just vague enough to be infuriating, and it taps against Trevor's last remaining nerve. Something. Not that either of them can put words to it, so by all rights, Trevor has no place getting testy about it. Even so...
Even so, that's not the worst answer. Against odds (and Trevor's expectations), Adrian seems amiable to the idea that this isn't just a pastime. A distraction. A release. All those words Trevor parades around his own mind, all the many and varied excuses he invents to ignore what they really are. What this really is.
A connection. Companionship. Affection. Caring. For a man who's at least half what his family's hunted for generations. The irony of it hits harder than anything else, but it comes paired with a solid uppercut of dread and a sudden certainty that he's done for. Utterly and completely ruined.
Trevor pushes a hand over his face, digs the heel of his thumb against his eye and abandons the empty water glass on an emptier stretch of bed. With a huff, he snags Adrian around the waist and drags him close again. Close enough to bury his nose in a pile of soft golden hair, to hook his arm beneath Adrian's shoulders and practically cradle the dhampir against him, to coax the man back into that comfortable tangle they always fall into.
It's no verbal confirmation or gratitude, but it's the closest Trevor can manage to either.]
[Maybe in older times, Alucard would have a more poetic metaphor for whatever this is. Talk of an alchemist's crucible, where elements are put together, heated over the whitest of flames, and what comes out is transmuted into something wholly unique. But now, here, there's no such language. Only thoughts of handling a delicate situation with slip-proof gloves, while guiding that situation across a greased floor. Or approaching a skittish horse who is likely to stomp you to death.
Neither is great. Both are apt.
Trevor's mind is in too many places. That much Alucard can say with confidence, even before Trevor reaches for him. It's glaringly obvious from the way Trevor holds himself, and it's probably a good thing there's no more drink in the house. Alucard doubts that this conversation would be happening otherwise.
Not that it's truly much of a conversation, but they are both stubborn idiots. They aren't Sypha, born of Speakers and thus equipped to use language as she does. Actions are far easier, and being dragged over into Trevor's arms is all that needs to be said right now. Whatever thoughts exist within Trevor's mind right now do not negate the need for Alucard to be precisely where he is right now.
Before Alucard even tries to settle against Trevor, he angles himself at just the right spot to kiss Trevor's forehead. It's sappier than the dhampir might usually risk, but it feels right in this moment to try and be reassuring. Hell if Alucard can articulate why.
Then there's the rest of him. One arm moves down to wrap around Trevor's midsection, and the other moves over his shoulder so Alucard's hand to thread through Trevor's hair. He can lie. Excuse the gesture as starting to pick out all the tiny little knots that are doubtlessly there, but there's no real effort to undo them. That would require sharp, fine vampire fingernails, and Alucard's are pointedly blunt right now. All he cares about is the repetition of the gesture, and that it be a natural thing. Not something that can be read as pity.
There's a soft sigh, one Trevor doubtlessly hears. His next few words are practically whispered.]
[If he tries, Trevor can remember all the times he's been happy over the past few years. Not amused, not drunk, but actually genuinely happy. If he's honest with himself, he was perfectly miserable before he linked up with Sypha and Adrian; drinking away his trust fund and living in his car hadn't exactly been the charmed life he'd imagined for himself. Not that monster-hunting had been much better in the grand scheme of things, and that was still a sorer spot than he wanted to acknowledge.
But Trevor's happy moments? Laughter? Smiles? They were all down to Sypha and Adrian. Now if Trevor could only learn to seek those moments out for himself.
But Adrian's nails against his scalp are more than just comforting. If men could purr, Trevor would be boneless and vibrating beneath Adrian's hands on a daily basis, and he's damn close to it now. His brow relaxes from the furrow it had worked itself into, eyes drifting shut, and one arm tightens minutely around the dhampir's waist.]
Good.
[It's a gruff tone. Tired, but just a tiny bit hopeful.]
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[There's a fleeting notion -- one Trevor won't lend any credence to whatsoever -- to cross the distance between them and assist with the process. Those things are clingy, and he can't imagine it'll be easy to peel them off now that he's got them on. But on the other hand, he's fairly sure it will invite some manner of scorn, because Adrian's mastered undressing just as well as anyone, and... Well.
It will be interesting enough just to watch him struggle if it comes to that.
Trevor's nearly finished off his drink through this entire ordeal, and scarcely notices until the straw starts making an obnoxious sound whenever he sips. SLUUUUUUUURP. Pity.]
Let me know if you need help.
[Like hell. He is staying right where he is and enjoying the show.]
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[They might just rip anyway, even if Alucard is as careful as can be as he works the damn things down to around his thighs. It's a process that involves a bit of deeply undignified wiggling (absolutely a show by accident), and a few moments of pacing around to try and find a better angle to get the damn things off. The struggle? The struggle is so real.]
Help? Trevor, you're treating this like it's a film, obnoxious straw slurping and all.
[But the stupid things are at Alucard's knees now, and from there, no struggle remains. Alucard slides the leggings off entirely and kicks them to the side. Alucard's legs are most certainly not their usual pale selves at the moment, but rather a faint red from the return of circulation to the areas that were starting to be cut off. Satisfied with that and that alone, Alucard makes his way over and sits himself at the edge of the bed, relieved.]
Well, we now know that I look amazing in them as predicted, but unless they make leggings for men, we should not do that again any time soon.
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[Trevor's going to make it his new duty to find them. Quietly. Without drawing attention to it until he's succeeded. He can be damn resourceful when he puts his mind to it. Or perhaps it's just dumb luck. But no one would fault him for trying.]
Amazing is giving yourself quite a lot of credit, isn't it? They were all right. Leather suits you better.
[He damn well did look amazing, but if it's possible for Trevor to give Adrian shit about something, he's jumping on the opportunity. Old habits die hard, and none harder than Trevor's tendency to ruin everything he enjoys. Genuine romance doesn't hold a candle to possible-masochism and definite-self-deprecation.]
Nothing also suits you better. [So stated, while a finger slips up Adrian's spine.]
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[Alucard doesn't know how this is ending besides ridiculously, and that is always for both good and ill when Trevor's concerned. Oh yes, he is a man of resources, but also...this involves being an asshole. And making out. So where this lands is completely up in the air.]
You could be nicer about something you helped to encourage, you know. Even if it's against your basic nature.
[Alucard'll give as good as he gets. Trevor's self-depreciation can usually be endearing, but there are moments that it's frustrating. Especially when it runs over actual romance, which is something the dhampir does appreciate every so often.]
Is that an invitation to pick up from last night, Belmont?
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But Adrian shouldn't have to suffer for Trevor's penchant toward self-sabotage. If Trevor had to admit it -- and it takes some needling -- Adrian's been quite good to them, after their initial blowout. That's worth more than Trevor's probably capable of giving him, but yes, he is trying to be better.
Which is possibly why he's not being quite as pushy and brutish as usual. Blunted nails drift lazily over Adrian's back, in the closest approximation Trevor can manage to a backscratch, and he's grinning at the dhampir with one brow quirked.]
Are you offering? Because, just to be completely clear, the answer to that question will always be 'yes.'
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And if he and Sypha can drag him further away from self loathing and self sabotage in the process, then so be it.]
Come here then, the angle you're at is awful.
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They should make a go of it sometime, the three of them. Possibly even in an official capacity. Trevor's more inclined to the idea than he ever thought he'd be, but they all fit. He's not sure how to describe it in any other way, and maybe he'll suggest it someday.
Someday. Not now. Now Adrian's waiting for Trevor to come, and Trevor never keeps him waiting. One arm winds around Adrian's waist, and he pulls the dhampir into his lap as he sits up, immediately diving to shower Adrian's throat with rough kisses and tiny bites. Rough, because rugged is a kind description for the eternal state of his facial hair, and he never seems to pay it any mind against delicate skin.]
And how would you like it, my liege? [It's a quiet growl against Adrian's shoulder, and Adrian can practically feel the smirk against his neck.]
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The idea of all three of them together is something Alucard's given thought to. He wants it. But...timing. There's a need for all three of them to be well and truly comfortable, and that requires more time. For now, this is more than enough.
Alucard's not one to protest with being dragged into Trevor's lap. Not when the dhampir's Ultimate Weak Point is immediately prevailed upon because yes. He's a vampire cliche and absolutely loses it when attention to his neck is involved. The eternal Belmont scruff only adds texture to the delight of it all, and one of Alucard's hands finds it's way to Trevor's hair. There's no pull or attempt to direct Trevor, it's only for want of having his hand there. The other moves to Trevor's chest, hand curling in the fabric.]
Mmmm. Carry on, this is quite nice.
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Can dhampir take thralls? Ghouls? Trevor should have read that somewhere, should have remembered it. But he can't, and doesn't particularly care to when his hands are creeping beneath the back of Adrian's ridiculous ouija t-shirt, seeking out more bare skin than they've been given leave to find, but itch for nevertheless. Wandering, even as his teeth find their way to the other side of Adrian's neck, and dig in harder, careful to hold back from the point that he's learned is unpleasant from past experience.
Careful. There's a trait no one would expect to see in Trevor. It wasn't even something he'd expect to see in himself, before--
Before Adrian drove him mad, and he surrendered to madness happily.]
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If there's to be bare skin involved in this though, there should be fairness. It's for that reason and others that Alucard's free hand decides to move low so it can get properly under Trevor's shirt. He doesn't bother with being subtle in creeping a hand slowly up either. No point. Once it's underneath Trevor's shirt, Alucard immediately puts his hand to Trevor's chest, aware that this is probably not as gentle an initial groping as he'd intended.
It's fine anyway. Trevor's entered teeth and nearly (but not quite) drawing blood into the equation, and this is simply Alucard's version of that.
A sigh of stupid satisfaction follows, loud and unrestrained and smitten with the current circumstances.]
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Adrian's wiry, lithe; his shirts never seem to pull so much as shift over Trevor's grasp, greedy though it always seems to be. But his hands creep lower when they return to Adrian's back, sliding beneath his shirt only briefly before straying down, passing briefly over his ass and then grasping at his thighs. He thinks -- no, he's quite sure -- that every part of Adrian is sculpted to perfection, but his legs? Those are Trevor's favorite part of him. Never mind legs for days, he swears Adrian's stretch on for weeks, and Trevor's content to be between them for just as long.
So let them linger here for hours. What else do they have to do? Nothing more important than sucking bruises into a dhampir's neck, that's for damn sure.]
I don't give you enough credit, do I? [Trevor murmurs, muffled against Adrian's skin, as if this is really the time or place to be asking that question.]
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[It's a question that comes out after a muted noise of approval with where Trevor's hands have wandered. He would have been ever so content enough to have Trevor's hands on his rear and keep them there. Sypha has a tendency to do just that, adding a touch of additional heat from his hands that always seems to make the dhampir functionally useless.
But with Trevor, it's legs. Always has been, and there's no doubt that Alucard approves of that too. There's a major artery down there that when brushed against, has a terrible tendency to escalate a situation. No wonder this entire joke ended up being taken seriously. Even if it's still ridiculous, Alucard stripped down to just his briefs now and his stupid messy bun, Trevor shirtless with Alucard's hand trying to grab every inch of skin on the man's chest.]
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[And that's true enough without elaboration, but Trevor seems dead-set on truth at the moment, for whatever reason. Perhaps the miracle of God-given legs in spandex has inspired it within him. Perhaps it's just the curse of being too sober for his own good.]
For what you do for us. [That, punctuated by a drag of teeth across the tender junction of Adrian's throat and shoulder. Then...] For what you do to me.
[He could write a whole dissertation on the latter, were he so inclined. He's not inclined to do much besides exponentially inappropriate grabbing at the moment, so he'll expand upon it later. Maybe. For now, he's tilting his head up, finally catching Adrian's lips in a heated kiss. It might serve to silence a response. It might just make Adrian drag him away by his hair.
Either way, he's determined to enjoy it.]
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He wants to respond. Meet like with like, maybe venture a few words into the discussion that could potentially move whatever this is forward. Perhaps not label it entirely, but define a rough outline. Even simply make it clear that I care and have strong emotions for you is a true statement. (The L word is much further away, even if it floats to the surface of Alucard's mind some days.)
But there's no chance to. Trevor's deployed the reliable shut up, dhampir gesture, and all of Alucard wants to respond to it first. The heat is wonderful, and Alucard wastes little time in deepening it. He knows that at this angle, opening mouths and involving tongues might catch against his fangs, but that's an acceptable risk he'll just have to--
--ah, right. The hand still in Trevor's hair is careful as it tugs Trevor towards a slightly different angle, one less likely to brush against fangs.]
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And hours later, fire finally simmering to embers, Trevor's still wrapped around Adrian. Because the dhampir likes it warm, and Trevor's arm draped over his waist -- body pressed against his side -- is the finest means of achieving that. Reality's slow to creep back in, and Trevor enjoys the afterglow more than he cares to admit.
But even dozing, it's too much to hope that he can just shut up for a minute.]
Shall I take this to mean -- [Trevor pauses to stifle a yawn.] -- that you're a fan of leggings?
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Because hours of laying in bed together, sober and so terribly in the moment, they carry a greater weight. Some of it is simply from going from a single long, slow note to a full orchestra at it's crescendo, but the rest lies in the emotions that come with it. Trevor's sober, and so everything done is a deliberate choice. Alucard's fully caught up in the moment, distracted from concerns about his parents and however that nightmare has decided to play out over the next few days. They're both present and the center of each other's focus, as close to each other as physically possible. All the kissing, groping, orgasms, everything else pales in comparison.
Or at least that's what Alucard will realize after sitting with his thoughts for some time, thinking long and hard about the past several hours. Now, still pressed close and running almost as warm at Sypha, all he can focus on is his own breathing. It's finally starting to resemble a steady, at rest rate. His eyes are closed, about to drink in the silence and--
--Of course.]
I believe the answer for both of us has been a resounding yes.
[He's too spent to offer something snappier. Or even chide the Belmont for runing a perfectly good moment.]
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Because it's only ever confusing with Adrian anymore. But poking fun is decidedly uncomplicated.
Times like this, his fingers itch for a cigarette. Sypha made him promise to quit, and it's for the better, he knows. But it's a good excuse to roll away for a few minutes, to get away and collect himself back into some semblance of sane. God knows why he's so restless after such a pleasant night.
And just like that, he resolves to stop caring. Because Adrian's bare thigh is right there for him to grab at, and that's the only bone he wants to chase at the moment. Squeezing gently, working up to his ass and then back down, dragging Adrian's knee over Trevor's own hip for a better reach. Does an impromptu massage make up for ruining the moment with nonsense? Maybe not. But he's practically cackling nevertheless.]
They'll fit better next time. Come to think of it, how do you squeeze yourself into all that leather?
[Not that he's complaining.]
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You never go Full Dracula.
Even with vampire healing, Alucard's exhausted, and inclined to simply sleep at this point. There's a vague notion of needing to make dinner or some sort of food - it is that time of day, he thinks = but that thought is dashed with Trevor's decisions. Alucard is in no place to protest being touched again, dragged over, and having rough hands run over him. Protesting is exhausting, and he resolves to only spend energy on important things.
Which obviously means being a smartass to that question.]
Magic, obviously. Next question?
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Does he?
He's confusing their arrangement again. Granted, he only ever obfuscates this shit in his own mind; God forbid he speak of it and let Adrian in on just how much of a fucking mess he is. Like Adrian isn't intimately aware of this already, but-- He's not serious about this. Neither of them should be. It's damn good and it staves off the loneliness for a minute. That's all it needs to be.
Trevor pulls Adrian close enough to press a kiss to his temple, simple affection that's just plain dichotomous with his current line of thinking, then carefully untangles himself from the dhampir and rolls to the edge of the bed. Jeans on first, but that's all the dressing he bothers with.]
I'm getting some water. Do you want anything?
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Just bring the entire pitcher in and two glasses?
[It's a smarter, more elegant solution. But more than that, it's a request that Trevor actually stay. Linger even. It's the kind of request that has to be made like this, because to be bold and ask him to stay could scuttle this...whatever it is.
Alucard lets out a soft sigh at that thought. They need Sypha home already. At the very least, this is something the dhampir can talk to her about, even if it'll end in Sypha rolling her eyes and demanding everyone just sit down and talk already.]
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He needs to breathe.]
As you wish, my liege.
[Trevor can't even bring himself to make Adrian suffer for his mood. Not after it's been sweet for what's possibly a record amount of time between them. Let it simmer a bit longer before Trevor turns bastard again.
It doesn't take long to get water, even a pitcher of it, with two glasses, which is what makes Trevor's lengthy disappearance somewhat worrying. The kitchen's a God-send of solitude, but the silence is deafening, and a damned drink might help quiet his mind, but they'd thoroughly polished off the last of the liquor last night. Had he thought to get more-- Had he thought, period--
Damn it all, what would Sypha do if she were home right now? Very probably smack Trevor around a bit and insist that he talk about his feelings, which has never been more out of the question, and the notion just irritates the FUCK out of him. Because all signs point to it, and he's never hated any idea more in his life.
In his life, and he there is no way he's being too dramatic about this.
Trevor's in a considerably darker mood when he returns to Adrian's room. He places a glass on Adrian's bedside table, fills it, then rounds to the other side of the bed. But he's abandoned the pitcher at the bedside table, and he's holding an empty glass in one hand. An empty glass he's still holding when he sprawls across the bedcovers, sighs, and then... Then starts glaring at it the moment he realizes it's still fucking empty.
If that's not the last goddamned straw...]
What are we doing with all this, anyway? [The tone's edging on snappy, but there's an undercurrent -- faint -- of something else. Anger, maybe. Fear?
Not that he'll ever admit.]
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Except soon passes, and Trevor doesn't return. Alucard's eyes move over to the clock that sits on his nightstand, the digital numbers telling him that more time has passed than required for such a simple errand. A soft sigh follows that revelation, and it's one laced with worry.]
Of course.
[Two words, said softly and with far more melancholy in them than even Alucard expected. This, whatever it is, it makes Trevor think too much. Alucard is no expert on the man's brain, but he can't imagine that this absence is due to happy thoughts.
He grabs a hairtie from that same nightstand and pulls all of his hair back (it is, unsurprisingly, an absolute mess and not one that's getting addressed until later). It's the only action he has any energy for, and by the time Trevor does return, Alucard is in the same position as before, the only difference being his hair's attempt at decency.
Keen gold eyes watch as Trevor settles down on the bed. Alucard doesn't reach for the water glass immediately either, not until Trevor's settled and...
...the empty glass is concerning. The question is too, but it needs to be put into the open. Sypha would demand that much of them both.]
I...I suppose that's one way to phrase it, yes. [They're words said with a slightly distant tone of voice. One that's carefully considering what to say.] But it leads to the easy response of I don't know.
[Alucard frowns at a flyaway that dares to enter his field of vision.]
I've assumed it is building to something.
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[That's just vague enough to be infuriating, and it taps against Trevor's last remaining nerve. Something. Not that either of them can put words to it, so by all rights, Trevor has no place getting testy about it. Even so...
Even so, that's not the worst answer. Against odds (and Trevor's expectations), Adrian seems amiable to the idea that this isn't just a pastime. A distraction. A release. All those words Trevor parades around his own mind, all the many and varied excuses he invents to ignore what they really are. What this really is.
A connection. Companionship. Affection. Caring. For a man who's at least half what his family's hunted for generations. The irony of it hits harder than anything else, but it comes paired with a solid uppercut of dread and a sudden certainty that he's done for. Utterly and completely ruined.
Trevor pushes a hand over his face, digs the heel of his thumb against his eye and abandons the empty water glass on an emptier stretch of bed. With a huff, he snags Adrian around the waist and drags him close again. Close enough to bury his nose in a pile of soft golden hair, to hook his arm beneath Adrian's shoulders and practically cradle the dhampir against him, to coax the man back into that comfortable tangle they always fall into.
It's no verbal confirmation or gratitude, but it's the closest Trevor can manage to either.]
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Neither is great. Both are apt.
Trevor's mind is in too many places. That much Alucard can say with confidence, even before Trevor reaches for him. It's glaringly obvious from the way Trevor holds himself, and it's probably a good thing there's no more drink in the house. Alucard doubts that this conversation would be happening otherwise.
Not that it's truly much of a conversation, but they are both stubborn idiots. They aren't Sypha, born of Speakers and thus equipped to use language as she does. Actions are far easier, and being dragged over into Trevor's arms is all that needs to be said right now. Whatever thoughts exist within Trevor's mind right now do not negate the need for Alucard to be precisely where he is right now.
Before Alucard even tries to settle against Trevor, he angles himself at just the right spot to kiss Trevor's forehead. It's sappier than the dhampir might usually risk, but it feels right in this moment to try and be reassuring. Hell if Alucard can articulate why.
Then there's the rest of him. One arm moves down to wrap around Trevor's midsection, and the other moves over his shoulder so Alucard's hand to thread through Trevor's hair. He can lie. Excuse the gesture as starting to pick out all the tiny little knots that are doubtlessly there, but there's no real effort to undo them. That would require sharp, fine vampire fingernails, and Alucard's are pointedly blunt right now. All he cares about is the repetition of the gesture, and that it be a natural thing. Not something that can be read as pity.
There's a soft sigh, one Trevor doubtlessly hears. His next few words are practically whispered.]
It makes me happy, whatever it is.
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But Trevor's happy moments? Laughter? Smiles? They were all down to Sypha and Adrian. Now if Trevor could only learn to seek those moments out for himself.
But Adrian's nails against his scalp are more than just comforting. If men could purr, Trevor would be boneless and vibrating beneath Adrian's hands on a daily basis, and he's damn close to it now. His brow relaxes from the furrow it had worked itself into, eyes drifting shut, and one arm tightens minutely around the dhampir's waist.]
Good.
[It's a gruff tone. Tired, but just a tiny bit hopeful.]
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