[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.]
[Trevor says good and it feels like progress. When Alucard relays the exchange with Sypha, she'll narrow her eyes and then throw her hands to the air, frustrated by the fact that unfortunately, Alucard is right. For them, it is progress, even if to the rest of the world it is utter nonsense that has no business wearing such a title.
But then the conversation will go to that far too long stretch of time between Trevor's leaving the room and returning with water, and they'll sit and worry for hours. That much is so very normal for them both. Trevor's bad moods are not the easiest thing to understand. (Well, the root causes of them are, but the current complexity that sets any particular one off is the challenge.)
Alucard doesn't change the pace of his hands or shift his weight or do anything to disturb the fragile balance of the moment. He doesn't even make a noise, because that would move the focus from Trevor to himself, and that is not where attention needs to be at this moment in time.
Eventually, Alucard nudes Trevor with a gentle knee.]
Better?
[The last words exchanged between them make it sound plausible that this is a follow up question that statement, rather than checking in on Trevor's mental well being.]
[Had Trevor not been two seconds from dozing, Adrian might have gotten more than a vague grunt in response. Yes, perhaps. No, but I'm getting there, maybe. Probably not You make me better and I'm better for having known you, but the sentiment is there somewhere. Part of Trevor wishes it were as easy to say as it was to think, but if emotional constipation were an Olympic event, Adrian and Trevor would be vying for gold, so--
So it's nothing more than a grunt, at least audibly. But Trevor noses Adrian's hair and presses a lingering kiss to the crown of his head. It's almost shockingly tender and affectionate, but he doubts he'll hear any complaints. Not when most of their more physical encounters involve a good deal of shoving and grabbing on Trevor's part.
And it might be the drowsiness or it might be just how comfortable this all is, but Trevor's lips are suddenly loose, and his voice is a soothing rumble when he murmurs:]
'Something' is good. [Punctuated by a kiss to Adrian's temple.] I'll take 'something.'
[There's a secret that Sypha's figured out, but Trevor hasn't. Not yet, not really, not in any meaningful way. Show the dhampir real, soft, romantic type affection and he practically melts. He's grown up around parents whose own romance is practically stomach churningly sweet, and so to be in a relationship is lean against each other. To mutter stupid terms of endearment, for arguments to be over the little things like Lisa just because the lab equipment is broken you can't use the microwave for chemicals, I said give me ten minutes. Being closer to that makes Alucard happy. Full stop.
That first lingering kiss gets a soft noise of contentment. One that is followed by Alucard closing his eyes and breathing out in a sigh that might be better from a fair maiden threatening to swoon. But it's the next part that makes Alucard weak at the knees (and thank God that he's seated.)
Those words and that kiss. That's more than he's dared to hope for with Trevor. And here it is, raw and as vulnerable as Trevor will allow for the time being. The trick is not to capitalize on it. To only let Trevor be, and to make sure that come morning, this can be built on.]
Mmmm. Agreed.
[The hand stroking through Trevor's hair slows though, and a yawn escapes the dhampir in spite of his best efforts.]
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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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But then the conversation will go to that far too long stretch of time between Trevor's leaving the room and returning with water, and they'll sit and worry for hours. That much is so very normal for them both. Trevor's bad moods are not the easiest thing to understand. (Well, the root causes of them are, but the current complexity that sets any particular one off is the challenge.)
Alucard doesn't change the pace of his hands or shift his weight or do anything to disturb the fragile balance of the moment. He doesn't even make a noise, because that would move the focus from Trevor to himself, and that is not where attention needs to be at this moment in time.
Eventually, Alucard nudes Trevor with a gentle knee.]
Better?
[The last words exchanged between them make it sound plausible that this is a follow up question that statement, rather than checking in on Trevor's mental well being.]
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So it's nothing more than a grunt, at least audibly. But Trevor noses Adrian's hair and presses a lingering kiss to the crown of his head. It's almost shockingly tender and affectionate, but he doubts he'll hear any complaints. Not when most of their more physical encounters involve a good deal of shoving and grabbing on Trevor's part.
And it might be the drowsiness or it might be just how comfortable this all is, but Trevor's lips are suddenly loose, and his voice is a soothing rumble when he murmurs:]
'Something' is good. [Punctuated by a kiss to Adrian's temple.] I'll take 'something.'
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That first lingering kiss gets a soft noise of contentment. One that is followed by Alucard closing his eyes and breathing out in a sigh that might be better from a fair maiden threatening to swoon. But it's the next part that makes Alucard weak at the knees (and thank God that he's seated.)
Those words and that kiss. That's more than he's dared to hope for with Trevor. And here it is, raw and as vulnerable as Trevor will allow for the time being. The trick is not to capitalize on it. To only let Trevor be, and to make sure that come morning, this can be built on.]
Mmmm. Agreed.
[The hand stroking through Trevor's hair slows though, and a yawn escapes the dhampir in spite of his best efforts.]
We should rest.