vampire!valkyrie, agatha, and wanda: how has sex changed since you became a vampire? do you like it better in your current state or when you were human?
[VALKYRIE]: Pros and cons. Touch sensations aren't as strong, but the other senses are. I can smell when my pet is turned on from all the way across the house.
[AGATHA]: Being able to practically smell their blood pulsing to their cunts - that makes every other shitty thing about being undead worth it.
[WANDA]: You can hear their heartbeat speed up too ❤️
Never post finished works on here usually, but I’m pretty proud of how this turned out! Had to draw this great line
Though my soul still hurts for having to draw Tedros ugly, it’s just w r o n g
SGE big bang entry for the lovely @pumpkinpaperweight and her fic — which I’m not entirely sure has a name yet lol but it’s definitely worth a read! Visit her ao3 or smth (★ ★ ★ ★ ★, 10/10, NYT best-seller 👏 👏, would read again)
Fandom: Dracula (2020)
Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing
Relationship: Dracula/Agatha
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: None
Word Count: 4324
Summary:
“And what use would I have for a bride when the perfect wife stands so beautifully before me?” he hummed before placing another punishing kiss to her neck. “If you’re to go out again tonight, you need to settle your nerves. Use me.” Another condition is added to their ever growing list of tasks.
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Agatha closed her journal with a sense of finality, a sigh leaving her lips as she slumped further into her chair. She brought a hand to her head, rubbing her temples in small, repetitive circles. Hunger was burning into her, impatience that she hadn’t known for years, and she knew it was his influence. The thirst for competition, for conquest, for him, manifested in the form of baser desires.
When she was human, it was the form of destruction, for finality. The last light flickering out of a man who had lived for too long. A devil banished back to Hell and her faith was restored if from vanity alone. Her baser purpose had been served, but her intellectual mind had been stimulated as well. Dracula had crawled into the darkest parts of her and pulled every string he could. He tightened his claws around curiosity and purpose, and pulled relentlessly at them, heightening every part of her.
And that’s why she chose to drink on her first night. That’s why they fucked like feral dogs in heat. That’s why she drank from his vein and took his promise with fervor. Her curiosity was driven entirely by him. Her life’s work was in her hands and she could not dare to part with that, with him.
Now, her baser instinct was to feed, to find flesh and tear it apart. Destructive to the point of unspeakable. No resolution in the finality of the lives she takes. Not in Mathieu de la Fontaine, not in Anna Sparelli, and certainly not the others in which she had imbibed. They had all died without purpose, without reason beyond her own hunger. It sickened her to her core, but she could not resist the pull regardless of her efforts.
The sound of the latch unhitching behind her went unnoticed as her thoughts consumed her mind, too loud to ignore. Nor had she heard the steps approaching her with such lightness, one should question if his feet had ever touched the ground.
Only when his hand was at her shoulder did she take note of him, shooting upright, and tensed under him. Her body was rigid in the chair, not breathing, not moving.
“Beast,” she spat as a curse. Admittedly, she was relieved for his intrusion, regardless of what it would bring. He could not know that. “Have you no respect for privacy?”
“A husband and wife should never have secrets, Agatha,” he toyed back. She could almost see the coy grin crawling along his lips as he placed far too much emphasis on husband and wife. “I’m hungry and I want you to join me for a proper dinner. You said it yourself that you wanted to study me. This is your opportunity.”
Dracula took a step back so she could rise and face him, as if knowing she would want to size him up somehow.
She stood and turned around, the palms of her hands resting easily on the desk. A decisive action, naturally. He could not be faced on uneven terrain, the battlefield had to be plain and they had to know the other as a true contender.
She would hate to disappoint.
“I have seen you feast, Count,” she started dismissively. “And it is no sight to behold. You feed as a wanton beast.”
“I’m not the one who tore a still-beating heart from a girl’s chest, Agatha.” His return was curt and without emotion. Part of her was wounded, another was understanding and conceded to the truth of his words.
“A result of your hunger. You said so yourself.” That did not mean she was going to concede to him.
Dracula smiled as he took a calculated step nearer to her. Her breath caught when he brought his hand to caress her face. His grin spread wider before he recomposed himself. “I didn’t make a mess of you, did I?”
She gave a breath and pushed herself from the desk, standing before him plainly as she considered his proposal. He had taken the greatest of care when he had fed from her and by Jonathan Harker’s own account, Dracula hadn’t marked him beyond his neck. His actions on the Demeter and in the convent seemed to have been for theatrics. Of course. He had to be the center of attention, even in murder.
“Well?”
“I will accompany you under the condition that no more lives are lost tonight,” Agatha sighed and stepped from his hold. So much for a night to collect herself.
She walked into her bedroom and moved to her closet opposite the bed, not bothering to turn the light on. As she searched for something to wear, Agatha could feel his eyes on her from the doorway.
“Either come in or go downstairs. It’s impolite to lurk, despite it being one of your habits,” she huffed and immediately felt him press against her. A gasp sounded from her lips as he held her close to him, a hand around her abdomen while the other held at her throat.
“I didn’t say right now, Agatha. While I am most definitely starving, I do have other appetites that need tending,” he growled in her ear. “I know you’re not wearing undergarments.”
She smiled and pried herself easily from his hold, despite the rush of heat that spilled in her core. How he had looked earlier, hair slicked, half-erect, in nothing more than a towel, played in her mind and she bit at her lip as she shoved the memory into the recesses of her mind.
“Perhaps not. But you said that this was my opportunity and so you shall feed, Count Dracula, and I shall observe you. No deaths. No killing. No brides,” she instructed as she pulled the nightdress from her body, leaving her nude before him.
Agatha grabbed a simple gown that she could easily pull over her frame, but found herself clutching at the fabric when he pressed a hard kiss to her shoulder. He had his fingers at her breast and teased the nipple to hardness, turning the supple flesh between his thumb and index.
“And what use would I have for a bride when the perfect wife stands so beautifully before me?” he hummed before placing another punishing kiss to her neck. “If you’re to go out again tonight, you need to settle your nerves. Use me.”
The dress fell from her hand to the floor below as she turned around. His reluctant fingers pulled at her nipple as he released it and drew a soft whine from her. When she looked up at him, she figured out what he was doing. His current offer was not entirely for his own pleasure. She knew that sex was a natural stress reliever, human or vampire, and he was offering himself as way for her to relax.
“Then I want you to listen to me,” she started as she searched his mind for any ulterior motive. Nothing. “Undress.”
“As you wish, Countess,” he purred, the term causing her core to ache. She watched as he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it, her inner lip caught between her teeth as he exposed his furred chest to her. She crossed her arms over her chest and bit at her lip to keep her smug grin from spreading. His pants came off just as quickly and he stood naked and half erect before her, all for her.
“Kneel.”
He descended to both knees, never breaking eye contact with her, amusement in his gaze but obedience in his movements. “Am I to pray?”
“With your tongue,” she entreated as she moved forward, her thighs on either side of his face as he lifted her in the air. Agatha curled forward, fingers twisting into the sheets. The grip of her thighs should have broken his neck as he lapped mercilessly between her folds. He worked her over with tongue and teeth, drinking her in as she came, once, twice, thrice… A second and an eternity meshed as one as ceaseless waves of pleasure crashed over her.
Only when her legs were shaking and her clit ached did he stop, kissing the oversensitive skin of her thighs as he held to her. Dracula lifted her, turned her, and set her on the bed. She spread her legs, releasing him, and looked up when he loomed over her.
“Might I make a suggestion?” His lips were glistening in the darkness of the room and as she glanced down between them, she saw his cock hard and ready. Thoughts heady with new lust, no longer on the thirst for blood, Agatha returned her gaze to him.
“You may.”
A depraved grin spread on his face before he leaned down and claimed her lips in a painfully slow kiss. Her mouth opened under his kiss, allowing him entrance that he had yet to ask for, and delighted in the way his tongue slipped easily along her own. A growl sounded in his chest, primal, lascivious, his intent clear as he pulled away.
“I think a lesson in restraint is needed,” he purred wickedly as he sank off the bed.
Agatha watched as he moved to the window, cock bouncing tightly against his abdomen as he paused, taking in the sight of the neighborhood around them. If anyone were to look into her bedroom window at that moment, they would be greeted by the furred chest and quite noticeable erection of an unabashed four hundred and fifty year old vampire.
“Is that supposed to be a joke? Restraint, coming from you?” she quipped as she watched him remove the tiebacks from the curtains, the long ropes in his hands quieting her defiant nature and raising curiosity. The room fell into complete darkness, but she watched as he tested the binding of the threads as though it were the middle of the day. “And what do you plan on doing with those?”
“Ah, my dear, I think you are quite aware of what I’m going to be doing with these.”
He crossed over to her, grabbed at her wrist, knelt beside the bed, and quickly tied it to the post that supported her headboard. Dracula repeated the process with her other wrist and stood with a very satisfied expression crossing his face.
“Beautiful. Absolutely marvelous,” he breathed softly, the heat of his arousal drowning his words. “I much prefer rope around you like this.”
“Keep that in mind the next time you feel it necessary to hang me,” Agatha shot back as she flexed her fingers and wrists against the bindings. She knew she could easily break free if she truly wanted to, but was content to leave them. “So this is your suggestion? To tie me up and have your way with me?”
He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times in disapproval. “I’ve told you before, Agatha. I have no interest in claiming you when you don’t want me to. I’m only giving you what you need. A countess must know when to contain herself.”
She shifted as best she could, lifting her head as his weight settled onto the mattress at her feet, and looked questioningly at him. What could she possibly need that involved tying her to a mattress and fucking her?
“A literal interpretation of restraint is underwhelming, don’t you think? Fifty years of rest and you’ve come out no cleverer,” she maintained doing little to mask her amusement as his smirk faded into feigned offense. “You’ll have to do better than that, Count.”
“Restraining you was only the start. Did you think I’d be so mundane?” he asked rhetorically and stood once more. She watched as he moved to the door. “Don’t go anywhere.”
In the solitary darkness of her bedroom, Agatha pondered his intentions. Count Dracula was known for playing games, at least with her, to sate his amusement and endless curiosity. He made it a point to always raise the stakes with her. The bargaining for Mina Murray’s life, playing chess in her dreams, having her strung up by the neck before crew and passengers, allowing her to drink from his vein, claiming her as his wife before they ever reached shore…
The Count did anything to give himself an edge over her and yet he stumbled every time. He fell victim to her unintended wiles and indulged in her with human fervor, a tether to reality that neither of them knew he could have. His reverence for her was Agatha’s undoing and together they arrived at the same crossroads each time they came together. The warmth she found in his chilling embrace could not be replicated by anything known to her; not blood, not her research, and certainly not the church.
Whatever he had waiting in the wings, she would devise a way to be prepared to push against him simply because she knew he enjoyed the competition. Agatha was starting to understand him more than she thought she would ever have the chance to. She had access to his entire life if she wished to recall it, but she preferred to learn through experience. The legwork required to know a vampire could take a lifetime, and lucky for her, she had several at her disposal.
Despite her wandering mind, Agatha caught the sound of him on the staircase and turned her head to catch him as he walked into the bedroom. He had two glasses in one hand, the smell of blood taking over her interest in his presence. She pulled against the restraints as her comfort diminished. Her hunger, while not intolerable, returned from the shadowy recesses of her mind.
“Ah-ah,” he sounded and approached her, setting one the glasses on the nightstand beside them. He raised his glass to his lips and took a slow sip before the glass joined hers on the small table. “This is for later. First, you have to prove that you can behave.”
Agatha scoffed indignantly and turned her head from him. She trained her sights on the open closet in front of her and crossed her legs tightly together. If he thought blood from a bag was enough to ruin her resolve, he was mistaken.
“I thought you were at my disposal. It seems you can’t stand staying out of the spotlight for a night. A narcissist even in privacy.”
“No, I said I was going to give you what you needed. If you don’t want it, then I can stop,” he explained and lifted his other hand to reveal the longer tie-backs from the living area windows. Dracula moved to the foot of the bed and sighed at her closed legs. “It’s up to you, of course. I am a man of my word, Agatha, and if you don’t want to continue, all you have to do is say. Think of it as preparation for dinner.”
“Foreplay is hardly meal preparation,” she returned as he tugged at her ankle. Agatha complied and separated her legs, spreading out for him once again. He muttered his thanks and made quick work of fully restraining her. She felt as though she was going to be drawn and quartered, the taut pressure overtaking her body. “What exactly is it that I need?”
He knelt before her on the bed, stretched upwards, and gently grasped her hips. His breath was hot against the slick, glistening wetness of her entrance; his shallow pants making clear his desire. Dracula’s teeth grazed along her inner thigh, the jagged edges pricking the skin as he trailed down to her knee. One of his hands left her hips as he placed a kiss to the top of her thigh. Agatha drew in a breath when his middle finger traced around her clit, still sore from his mouth, and easily sank into her warmth.
“You need to listen to others,” he dictated, being sure to necessitate ‘listen’ as though she were a pet.
Agatha began to protest but he curled his digit up inside of her and ran the pad of his finger over her sweet spot. Her breath hitched in response and she tried to move her hand to nestle in his hair. The binding held her firmly in place and she thought about tearing it off.
“If anyone needs a lesson on social etiquette, it’s you, Count Dracula. Times have changed and you can’t d--”
He plunged another finger into her, caring not for tact or being delicate, and silenced her with a few hard thrusts. The fabric constraints pulled tightly as she twisted and writhed against them. Through heavy-lidded eyes, Agatha caught a grin on his face, smug as he watched her drown in sinful divinity with each of his ministrations.
“I can’t do what, now, my dear? You’ll have to speak up. I’m afraid I can’t quite hear you,” he taunted as he moved up on the bed, his fingers still working inside of her. Their rhythm slowed and he withdrew one. “The bedroom is no place for etiquette, Countess. Not between a beast in rut and his bitch in heat. Stay quiet, listen to my instructions, and I promise to give you release enough to quell any appetite you may have.”
She could have spat in his face for calling her a bitch, his bitch, but the flames that engulfed her were of a different nature. Agatha’s jaw tightened as she worked it, trying not to betray the heat splintering throughout her body as lightning spreads through the sky. His eyes shone in the dark, glowing like headlights approaching in the dead of night, and he looked down at her with amusement.
She leaned up to face him, as close as her bindings would allow, and stared him in the eye. “Try again.”
Dracula withdrew his hand from her entrance and gripped her throat, his fingers carefully placed, a habit from a human life long forgotten. A noise between a snarl and a gasp erupted from her as he pushed her back to the pillow beneath her.
“Humor me,” he insisted, his face so close to hers she couldn’t help but strain against his hand to kiss him. He met her halfway, their lips and teeth colliding with a heat she hadn’t known since their first night. When he pulled away he slid his cock along her glistening folds, her entrance contracting at the contact, and Agatha shivered at the sight of him watching her.
“Stay quiet or I’ll stop. Can you do that for me?” he inquired as he pushed inside of her, a grunt sounding in the thick of his throat as she enveloped his cockhead.
Agatha reached up and grabbed his shoulder, holding to him as he stretched her further than what his fingers had amounted to. She felt his cock nearly slide out of her as he withdrew his hips before slamming back into her, filling her in an instant. Remembering his words, Agatha made no attempt to withhold the groan that sounded in her throat.
He withdrew his hand and cock from her completely, kneeling back on the bed, his erection glistening with her juices. She smirked down at him, her dark tresses a mess around her face, and went to pull at one of her restraints. However, Dracula was there to stop her, grabbing at her lower leg with one hand and lifting her at the small of her back with the other.
The pressure of the bindings as she stretched made her twitch, or maybe it was the tip of his erection teasing at her entrance once more when he repositioned himself.
“Stay. Quiet.”
Agatha pushed her head into the pillow beneath her as he thrust into her, the sound of his skin slapping against hers echoing in the dark with discordant harmony. She bit into her lip, focusing on how his cock seemed to go deeper and deeper with each motion. Her walls grasped at his erection, constricting as her orgasm built just where the tip of his cock touched within her.
When she pierced her own skin from trying to maintain control, Agatha cried out. Unintentionally this time as she was too focused on her release. His hips stuttered to a halt and he pulled out of her, panting as he dropped her back to the mattress below. Her body twitched in protest, her hips grinding upwards for contact, and her eyes snapped open.
“Defiant to the last, aren’t you? Tsk, tsk, a shame, really. I could feel how close you were,” he shook his head. “Now, what will I do with you? Maybe sate a different appetite, hmm?”
Before she could reply, he leaned forward and grabbed the full glass, the blood within as steady as his hand. “Just a taste. What do you say?”
Agatha felt her agitation swell within her and took the opportunity to free her hands while he was occupied. She had allowed him to call her a bitch, let him tease her, let him deny her, but she would accept nothing more. This was her show and she would burn before she let him play ringmaster. As she tugged her legs free, Dracula used his spare hand to hold her steady, placing it between her breasts.
“I say you’re losing your grip, Count Dracula. Indulging yourself too much in any pleasure you can in the moment. You’ve said so yourself,” Agatha returned sharply, her hand covering his around the glass, careful not to squeeze lest it break.
“I haven’t had nearly enough of you for it to be too much, Agatha.” He dipped his finger into the glass and held it in front of her, an invitation, a truce, a promise.
She took his finger into her mouth, carefully sucking at it, and pushed him onto the mattress. The contents of the glass came spilling out, covering Dracula in blood from head to chest. A smirk ran the length of her lips as she shifted so she was seated on his abdomen. Being covered in blood suited him, befitting the beast he was.
She lifted her hips into the air, grabbed his cock, and guided it inside of her as she rolled her hips downward. Slowly, she took him inch by inch, humming at the sensation of being filled again. Her eyes never left his as she rolled her hips again, taking him to the hilt and stifling a groan when his cock pressed so far into her.
Agatha bent down as she found a rhythm and traced her tongue along his collarbone, indulging in the taste of blood while his claws dug into her hips as he steadied her. The glass tumbled to the floor, ringing clear as it shattered against the hardwood below. At last, control had returned to her.
Her fingers twisted into his ebony hair as his hips bucked upward to meet her, thrusting deeper into her, evoking a moan that splayed across his neck. Teeth like razors, she scraped against his flesh, tasted the human blood there, was overwhelmed by the scent of him and that which he was covered in.
With his hands planted firmly at her hips, he rolled them, placing Agatha back onto the mattress. She held to him as he chased her orgasm, finding each spot to hit by every breath and noise she would make. Agatha found purchase at his back, dug into his shoulder blades, as her back arched against him, her hips rocking as he fucked into her.
With breath stolen, she gasped as Dracula thrust hard against her, pushing her over the proverbial edge and sending her into glorious oblivion. He stilled himself inside of her as she came around him, holding to him and spewing curses as though they were prayer. She felt him smile against her cheek as he started again but chose to indulge the sensation between her legs rather than the one in her chest. Her walls clenched his cock, squeezing it as he pumped into her until his seed shot inside of her. Dracula gave a few extra soft thrusts for good measure before he pulled out of her.
He fell to the bed beside her, chest rising and falling as though the exertion had some effect on him. Admittedly, she found herself breathless in the best of ways. No matter how she looked at the situation, there was only one conclusion she could draw. Perhaps, Count Dracula could control himself, if only under certain conditions. Perhaps that condition was her.
“Your hypocrisy of my egoism is damning, Agatha. I simply enjoy you,” he stated plainly, although the lie was transparent. He was saying such things for posterity’s sake.
Even saying that he simply enjoyed her was an understatement. The way the product of their sex spilled out of her as she shifted on the mattress was evidence enough. The way he looked at her now, rolled onto his side, clearly fighting the urge to place his hand at her cheek…
There was something more behind his eyes and she knew it was reflected in her own, but the rules of their game had never allowed for such things. They would play for a little longer.
“Was this not a way to sate certain hungers so you could show me how you feed in a controlled environment?” she inquired pointedly and turned towards him, ignoring the now uncomfortable slickness between her legs. “You said it was for my benefit, yet you seem just as satisfied.”
“I’ve satisfied you?” His grin could not have been wider or more wicked than it was in that moment as he leaned in and brushed his nose against hers.
Although she reactively returned the gesture, she shook her head dismissively immediately afterwards. “Do not get sidetracked, Count. We have a task to complete.”
A disapproving huff was his response as he sat up. “At least you’ll learn something about being a vampire tonight.”
I was waiting to make sure no one pounced you, but apparently not.#3 and/or #42 of the kissing prompts for Dragatha. Whichever catches your fancy more
For once in my goddamn life, I am actually doing this.
It had been nearly a year since Agatha Van Helsing and Count Dracula had been found off the coast of Whitby. Agatha would not settle for only herself being brought to shore upon finding herself in the unfortunate category of undead. He had changed her and he would be staked for it. Or at least she had thought.
“Agatha, you’ve been gone an awfully long time. A husband will start to worry if his wife is gone too long, you know. I was starting to consider tacking up posters,” Dracula chides, half-pleased with himself and half curious as to her whereabouts. He had been waiting for her, just a little ways inside the door. A dog awaiting his mistress’s return.
She should have killed him by now but she was endlessly fascinated by him, even as her stomach turned uncomfortably as he claimed her as his wife. Only on paper, only because he made it so. Only because of his selfish, doggish actions was she now as he was, a vampire. A lifeless, bloodthirsty monstrosity. If not for the sake of containing him, she would have parted from him at the first opportunity. She would have turned to the nearest priest and asked to be staked; or she would have studied her own existence in death.
Agatha was able to watch him adapt, rather quickly, to a new environment and to new people. This process was no doubt hastened by his diet, secured by the blood of his victims, but fascinating nonetheless. She had taken note and eventually she dined on particular individuals that would grant her knowledge she could not obtain otherwise.
“Based on the smell of you, I’d say you had dinner without me,” he continues when she doesn’t entertain him with a response. His nose twitches as he closes the distance between them, never caring for her personal space, and frowns. “Inferior vintage. You should take better care of yourself.”
“Unsatisfied with your wife’s diet?” she snarks back, unflinching, her thick Dutch accent still perfectly in place despite all of the English blood running through her veins. He sees it as an act of defiance, holding to tradition in a new world. She sees it as a way to connect her to her human self, something to ground her to the morality she hypocritically holds close.
“Deeply,” he returns, decidedly ignoring her tone. Dracula leans in, sniffs at her neck with displeasure, and draws his head back, his frown growing sullen. “You do this intentionally.”
“Feed on the dying? Of course I do,” she says as she walks deeper into their home. She should call it what it is, a gaudy and oversized prison, but she has refrained for eleven months. The former nun can hold her tongue far longer than he ever could and she wasn’t about to entertain certain arguments.
She ignores the footfalls behind her, used to him following her around like a lost child, pestering her whenever he saw fit. Through the foyer, through the hall, crossing down a staircase and into the bowels of the near castle-sized home, they went. She wanted her study some place he could not enter, some place entirely hers. Once she found that she was impervious to the weaknesses he possessed, she used them to her advantage.
Down a dimly-lit hall and to a room with a cross affixed to the door, she hears him give a puff of breath and his shoes stop clicking against the stone floor.
“This? Again? Agatha, you’re stuck with me for all eternity and you’re going to spend that eternity pouting in your dismal little room?”
“Asks the man who sleeps in a box of dirt,” she shoots back as she opens the door, a line of Biblical pages lining the entryway. Agatha steps inside and turns to look at him. It reminds her of the convent a year prior and the knowledge that he cannot follow grants her mind some peace. “When was the last time you slept in a bed?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer and closes the door.
He irritates her beyond measure, beyond rationality, and yet she remains in his--their--home. Carfax Abbey was a quick fix, if only for his “talent” of suggestibility over others. Six months and they had a completely renovated property, complete with all his little secret passageways and hideaways. She had been impressed with his vision, though she would never admit it to him.
She reaches for a book she had recently picked up and takes residence on the small loveseat he bought for her on a whim. It could have been seen as a token of affection had it not been from him and an attempt for her to let him into the study.
The novel was a cryptozoological text on lycanthropy, werewolves, and the various mentions of them throughout history. She reads through it with idle interest, her annoyance ebbing as she turns each page, scribbling quick notes as she reads.
When she’s satisfied with her research, nearly two hours later, Agatha stands and stretches. It’s a purely human habit she hasn’t been able to rid herself of since turning. Not to mention, the more human behaviors she kept, the more he disapproves, and that is a win in her book.
The former nun blinks a few times and looks to the door behind her. It has been hours since she entered the room and she feels it safe enough to exit into the corridor. Safe enough from his prying eyes, his alluring presence, her weaknesses so human it sickens her. While he annoyed her beyond imagination, she can’t bring herself to part with him, if only to watch him. She keeps justifying her presence, her very existence, on keeping his destructive tendencies at bay. The Count can hardly keep himself in order but she has that power over him. Even if she needed a moment to herself every now and then, he would always bend to her whims.
When she opens the door, she’s greeted by him, sitting against the wall of the stone corridor. He’s staring emptily at the opposing wall, unmoving, unbreathing, until she appears in the doorway. Agatha nearly scoffs at his behaviors, a dog awaiting his mistress, a beast suddenly unable to survive on its own.
“Have you been waiting here the whole time?” she asks, her tone severe despite the warmth that unfurls within her. It’s not romantic, it’s stalking, she reminds herself. However, upon further inspection, she notices his change of clothes and lively hue of his skin.
“As a matter of fact,” he starts, standing and moving towards her. “I just returned and I want you to taste something.”
He’s too close now, just a breath away from her mouth and the scent of blood is heavy on his lips. Agatha can feel her teeth shape into fangs and knows her eyes are drenching in the crimson hue of bloodlust.
“And what would that be?” she provokes, unwavering despite the way her body sways towards his form. She damns herself, damns him, for the way her figure acts of its own accord, ignoring her mind’s wishes to steer clear of him.
“Fresh blood, Agatha. You need to remember what it tastes like. Maybe then, you’ll stop these preposterous little games of yours and submit to your nature. It’s what vampires are supposed to do. Feed on the living, accept the truth for what it is.”
He’s too close for her to answer now, his neck bent down to the point she can nearly taste the blood on his lips.
“Kiss me, dragă mea,” he breathes against her lips, a hand at her hips that she doesn’t care to move. She should hate him, should push him away. But she doesn’t. In fact, Agatha Van Helsing makes no such movement, despite her mind demanding repulsion.
In a moment, she makes her decision, hunger overtaking her higher functions, and she accepts his lips on hers, hungry as he claims her with a kiss. Her fangs scrape against his bottom lip as she sucks the last of the fresh blood from it and looks up at him after pulling away.
“Again.” A word that sounds more of a request than a demand, but she obliges him. She kisses him deeply, her hands coming to his cheek and disheveling the neatly organized locks atop his head. Dracula pulls her tighter against him and pushes her up against the stone wall.
The rocks are cool against her back, adding a contradictory sensation that conflicts with the heat of his mouth and hands as they travel her body. His mouth tastes of blood, surely, but there’s something else that she cannot place that compels her to deepen the kiss. Exploratory in execution, her tongue samples him, delving in and out, running against the slick of his own.
“What a naughty nun you are,” he purrs as he breaks the kiss, his lips traveling to her jaw. “Shall I punish you?”
Fandom: Dracula (2020)
Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing
Relationship: Dracula/Agatha
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: None
Word Count: 8,298
Summary: She hadn’t seen him in fifty years, not since the ship exploded and left everything aboard scattered on the seafloor; a relic of a two person war. He was one of those relics, a deadly artifact she had sought out first and foremost upon her awakening;;
Agatha Van Helsing awakes at the bottom of the seafloor in a state of undead. As always, her curiosity leads her to more than she bargained for but no less than she can handle.
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She hadn’t seen him in fifty years, not since the ship exploded and left everything aboard scattered on the seafloor; a relic of a two person war. He was one of those relics, a deadly artifact she had sought out first and foremost upon her awakening;;
Much like Jonathan Harker, Agatha Van Helsing had been swept into the churning waters below her, sinking into the frigid sea around her. Her last breaths had been painful lungfuls of briny water and assumed it would kill her faster than if she had fought against it. She had awoken very nearly after, her body writhing on the seafloor as she snapped back to reality in an instant. It didn’t take her long to figure out what had happened to her.
Sister Agatha Van Helsing was stripped of mortality and entered a betwixt state of semi-existence. All she had to do was feed and she would become what she had set out to destroy. Curiosity ravaged her mind as she breathed the water from her lungs, letting them compress to nothing. She observed the sensation before she walked along the seafloor as she would a sidewalk.
Hunger was in the back of her mind and she wondered if a fish would suffice or if she would have to ingest human blood. Could she even catch a fish? Where was Dracula? Surely if she survived he had as well.
Questions piled in her brain, one lapping over the other, as she searched the floor for something. It was difficult to see through the debris and waves, but once she found her bearings and settled her mind, Agatha was able to focus on the task at hand. Surely if Dracula was able to track down Harker with such efficiency, she would be able to feel his pull on her as his…
‘Victim,’ she scrutinized her own thoughts, her brow scrunching together reflexively. The word didn’t sit well with her, for she did not see herself as a victim. Rather, she was a byproduct of her own hubris and his repulsive instinctive nature.
Agatha felt her ears perk and she turned her head towards what had unexpectedly caught her body’s attention. It was a fleeting feeling, but it was enough to motivate her pace. She followed the sensation and found what she had been looking for.
His box of dirt.
She wanted to reach out, to know that he was in fact in there, but she knew better. The compulsion was stronger than any natural urge she had felt as a human. It was hard to resist the need to see him, to give herself one more chance to end his life. Yet, she refrained.
She needed time to gain strength and insight. And now she had all the time that God could offer her. Or rather, that Dracula offered her, she guessed. He was no god, he was hardly a man, yet she could not stop thinking of him, of how he looked in his crate, if the water had seeped into the soil. Harker’s “account” of his stay at Castle Dracula was starting to make intimate sense to her as she forced herself away from the crate.
Agatha shifted her gaze to the seafloor, looking for any sign of an incline, and upon finding it, followed it until she could feel the ripple of waves above her. She emerged from the water as if walking up stairs and noticed it was nearing morning, the dew settling on the vegetation in the distance. A little early to be conducting experiments, in her mind, but she would conquer all of them with time.
On the breeze, she caught the scent of food, of civilization, of… whatever possessing nectar flooded her senses. It was closer than the other scents and she scoured the beach to find what it was. Weeks prior she claimed to not see the appeal of blood, but this new smell, this input, drove her to near infuriating madness.
Then she saw the body. And she ran to it, her desire to help overriding her desire to feed. As she came upon the man, she realized the severity of his injuries. He appeared to be a watchman of sorts based on his attire, but that struck her as an unimportant detail in comparison to the way his femur protruded from his leg and the abnormal twist of his neck. It was clear he had fallen from the cliff and would not last much longer. She could hear his pulse as it slowed and watched as the liquid spilled from his wounds like a fountain. Never before had blood been so inviting or so black in the moon’s light.
“P-please…end my pain…Ma’am, I beg of you,” lamented the man when he saw her approaching. She knelt beside him, recited prayers in Latin as she brought her hand to rest on his forehead. “You’re a Catholic?”
“A nun. Or I suppose I used to be,” she explained upon finishing her prayers. “I’m sorry cannot save you.”
The man’s expression grew cross, simultaneously frustrated and faded as his life continued to leave him. “I don’t want to be saved, I want mercy. I can’t suffer like this. Please, Sister. Whoever you are, do this for me.”
The urgency in his voice, it reminded her of the screams at the convent. Pleading, desperate, final. However, the blood pouring from him muffled the shrill cries of the month’s past. Agatha leaned down to an intimately close level and felt her body change, felt the hunger build in her. She could see the reflection of a beast in his dying eyes.
“Are you an angel of death? Is that why you came to me?” The man interjected, fear lost to his voice, resigned to his fate.
“Perhaps fate has a hand in all things. Please do not fret now. I can take the pain away until you are sleeping.” She felt wrong. Everything felt wrong as she lowered her mouth to his. Her first kiss in years and it was with a stranger she was about to murder.
‘A mercy killing is not murder. It’s hardly killing at all,’ rang a damnably condescending voice in her mind that sent a delicious chill down her spine. She had not anticipated the reaction to hearing him speak. The man before her groaned and she turned to his neck, focusing on what little life he had left. His pulse was almost gone now, his heart struggling to function. ‘Drink, Agatha. You know you want to, and look at him. That’s very much how the second mate looked right before I devoured him. No chance of recovery, might as well enjoy yourself while you can. He certainly will if you can control him. Though, I’ve never seen a fledgling do it before.’
She felt her stomach twist painfully as she pieced together what was happening within her mind. Dracula was in her head, speaking to her through some sort of mental connection. He was with her even as he sat in the bottom of the sea, pestering her as a man continued to suffer before her.
Fate toyed with her or perhaps God tested her, but Agatha had a decision to make. She could allow the man to suffer, to die naturally as humans are supposed to when accidents happened. Or she could claim his life and become the slouching monstrosity she found so horrific and fascinating.
‘Hardly a choice, you know. This is what you’ve always wanted, Agatha. To study the beast you must become one. Morality and God have no place in survival or in science. He is your sustenance and your ticket to a life of increasing, limitless knowledge.’
She ignored him as she sank her teeth into the man’s jugular, focusing entirely on finding his thoughts, his dreams, his aspirations. Agatha wanted to know the man from whom she drank. Information could bring him comfort and she saw a flash of a memory.
Shepherd’s Pie, warm and inviting, a woman behind it. The eyes she looked out were those of a child… His mother?
‘Will you ever fail to impress me?’
The memory was a place to start and she tried to make a connection with him, but the taste of his blood kept interfering as she drank him deeper. Her teeth locked into place as her jaw clamped down, securing the artery in her hold. She felt like she had broken a fast, indulging on pastries and delicacies she did not have names for. Only when another memory, much different from the first, played through her mind did she realize what was happening. Her eyes grew wide and she loosened her grip, pulling away enough to encourage his peaceful departure. His mother was waiting for him, or at least he hoped she was.
“You must cling to love as you fall from this world, to courage and to strength. Do not fear death, James. There is nothing to fear in happy reunions,” she whispered tenderly in his ear as his lungs slowed in his chest. The hot prickling at her eyes brought forth tears as she returned to his neck, devouring the last shred of life from his body. She pulled away, tears hot at her cheeks as she looked down at the lifeless corpse, drained to a ghastly white.
The blood that remained at her lips took a sour smell and she used her sleeve to rid herself of the scent. She felt stronger than ever within a matter of moments and was able to rationalize a man’s death to herself. He was going to die and she hastened his departure to spare his suffering.
‘One should always speed the parting guest. You remembered,’ his proud and most unwelcome words trespassed onto her thoughts once more. She could nearly see him behind her eyelids when she closed them. ‘This is the last night you’ll have my company for a long while, Agatha. Be sure to survive until I wake.’
“What’s to keep me from going into the water and staking you my first chance? I could do it now, all I would need is a piece of driftwood,” she called toward the open water as she stood from the body of James the Night Watchman. He was startled by the explosion out at sea and fell from the cliff to the rocks below. The poor man had been twisted among the rocks for nearly two hours before Agatha came along.
His death was not enough to distract her from the shift in her speech. She had absorbed his native tongue very much the same way as Dracula had learned it from Jonathan Harker. Wonder sparked in her eyes and she understood her initial hypothesis to be true. Stories, memories, secrets, lives, were all in the blood. That is what Dracula had meant by blood is lives.
‘Your curious spirit. Your intelligence, your hunger for information, your desire to know every dark corner of this world. Need I remind you, you bargained your life to me in order to save that shrilling child. You’re a part of me now.’ His breathy chuckle echoed between her ears as she lifted the deceased man from the rocks and walked him into the water. She could feel her abdomen clench at the sound of his voice. It was a despicable response and she shoved the thought down as she swam out far enough for the tide to take the corpse away from shore. Her easy strength and energy came from the exsanguinated body that drifted away from her arms.
‘See? One must keep a tidy slaughterhouse. The fastest pupil I’ve ever had, and to think all your learning is going to be turned against me. You’ve been given a gift, Agatha. If anything you shouldn’t be planning to kill me. No, my dear Sister, I think you should explore the range of your capabilities.’
“You are narcissistic even in your obscenity. If you are so confident, then perhaps you should step from your box and meet me on shore in little over an hour.” Agatha sounded like she was talking to herself as she began to make her way back to shore, unaware of what lurked in the water as she swam. “I have a theory I want to t--”
She gasped as she felt a firm grip at her ankle and her body was suddenly jerked underwater. Agatha’s first instinct was to fight against him, knowing full-well that it was Count Dracula who had his grips on her ankle, on her hips, on her waist. In the disturbed water, she let out a snarl, entirely vampiric in nature and lost in the liquid around them. He smiled at her through the water and she kicked at his shin, but he dodged her easily in a smooth movement.
‘I’m sure you do,’ he purred in her mind and his tone suddenly changed as he was able to look at her. ‘I have a different idea. Mind, you are allowed to say no.’
‘Good. Then I don’t have to say it. Let me go. Return to your box, Count. This is the last night I’ll have your company, yes? I’d rather begin seeing as little of you as possible. Thanks,’ she retorted defiantly and shook one arm loose then the other. Agatha returned to the surface with the Count emerging right after.
“Oh for Heaven’s sake. Has no one ever told you no? Is your ego truly that fragile?” She rolled her eyes but remained for a moment longer. “Speak to me on shore if you wish, I don’t want to be waterlogged by the time the next living person sees me.”
How easily she accepted her undeath. Merely rationalization and she was going to make the best of the situation.
“Under one condition.”
“And what would that be?” She was almost afraid to ask. Entertaining him was an easy way to get information from him. If she could twist whatever his terms were to her benefit, then perhaps she would indulge him further.
“I don’t want to just talk when we get there.”
She blinked incredulously at him. The implications alone were laughable and she couldn’t help the breath of disbelief she expelled from her nostrils. At first, she thought he was trying to throw her off-balance.
Upon further inspection, however, it was clear to her what he wanted.
“Did the explosion scramble your brains, Count? Why would you think I’d want to lay with you after you slaughtered the Sisters and so many innocents while you fed off me for weeks?” Her words were scathing as she started to swim back to shore, not caring if he followed or not.
“Because, you’d be lying to both of us if you said you didn’t and lying is beneath you, Agatha,” he stated plainly as he kept pace beside her, his black hair silk in what was left of the moonlight. “And because I’ve been in your head. I know your dreams, I know your desires. As we played chess, I could smell it on you.”
Her cheeks flushed as the compartmentalized memory came back to the forefront of her mind. How could he discern personal and professional fascination? A beast is only aware he’s getting attention; he doesn’t care what kind. He was no better, but he was right.
“I’m a nun, not a saint.”
“A vampire, not a nun,” he corrected as they stepped out of the water. “You’re not constrained to all those silly little rules anymore. You can live as you like, do as you like, experiment as you like. Now, let me speak my piece while I play by your rules for a moment.”
She crossed her arms over her chest as the wind blew through her tangled, wet mess of hair. He was right in saying she was no longer a nun. In truth, Agatha hadn’t felt like a nun in a very long time. Still, that did not mean she was going to simply give her body to the man who just hours earlier had tried to kill her. Even if he was dripping wet in front of her, his hair mussed, and clearly exhausted. And admittedly, very handsome. “I’m waiting.”
“I don’t know how long I’m going to be asleep. You did a number on me, even if you can’t tell, and I need time to recuperate. I’ll need to be back in my box before the sun rises. By your count, that’s in an hour.”
“So that’s why you want to bed me? Because I injured you?”
Dracula shook his head and laughed before stepping closer to her, his chest heaving from exertion. She examined him closer and noticed odd protrusions from under his shirt. “No, Agatha. I want you because the next time I see you, it will be too long to have waited. It might actually kill me in my sleep if I’m not the first to have you as you are now. It is my handiwork, after all.”
Broken ribs.
“Good, it will save me the trouble,” she snorted indignantly, raising a brow at him. Agatha made note of the way his gaze kept wandering from her eyes to her lips. She did her best to ignore the stir in the pit of her stomach. “You have my life, Count. Which, if I’m careful, will continue long enough to kill you.”
Something in him changed then, his smile disappearing as his eyes grew dark. A new strategy perhaps?
“Why wait? Kill me, if you truly want me dead now. Here,” he pressed, voice low, as he slipped his suspenders from his shoulders and pulled his shirt over his head. The fabric fell to the gravel beneath him and he took another step towards her. His eyes were on hers, demanding, testing. When he spoke, his voice was low and thick. “Go find your piece of driftwood, pierce my heart, and watch as we both crumble to dust.”
She swallowed the thick feeling in her throat as she trained her gaze on his, unflinching as the wind picked up around them. He was too close and she was still feeling the power from her first feed. An effective tactic indeed.
She could not step back lest she show weakness, so she squared her shoulders and raised her head. There were many things Agatha still wanted to do, alive or undead. Now, she had a better and more willing test subject: herself.
“Not until I know the reason behind your fears, Count Dracula.” She had to steady herself when she spoke. Any closer and she feared she would fall into his natural gravity. Even at the short distance she was away, her head swam, but she had to keep herself in check.
“Excuses are unnecessary,” he imparted and closed the space between them. She gave a breath of protest against his mouth, her hands coming to his chest. When it came time to push him away, she couldn’t. Instead, Agatha moved her hands to nestle in his hair and hold steady at his neck, bringing him closer to her.
He flicked his tongue at her lip, noticing that it had already healed over nicely from when she ripped a chunk out of it when she was mortal. She opened her mouth in response, drinking in the taste of him as he sampled her. His breath still carried the flavors of Sokolov and even in her repulsion, she found herself giving into him. The captain had been a good man, undeserving of the fate bestowed upon him, but Dracula made her forget about him, about everything, simply by kissing her, no opiate involved.
The hand at the back of his neck held him steady in her hold as the other moved against his chest. There should have been a heartbeat under her fingertips. There should have been warmth in the fervent ministrations of their mouths, there should have been many things...but Agatha still sank into him. She wanted more and she damned herself for it. Her natural curiosity and blood-high crashed over her at once as her would-be murderer put a hand at the small of her back and drew her closer.
“That’s better,” he hummed as he broke the kiss, a glib smirk dancing at his lips. Agatha pulled back from him, her hands returning to her sides as she put space between them. Her innards tumbled wretchedly within her, caught between pleasure and disgust.
“Deplorable,” she interjected, mostly at herself. Never had she planned on breaking so many vows in one night, but Dracula stood shirtless, bruised, and battered before her. And he wanted her, more than anything she had seen. More than her blood, more than standing upon English soil, more than each and every nun and crew member he had torn apart. She could feel his natural allure pulling at her, coaxing her to him like a beacon in the dead of night.
“So what say you? Your body’s response is clear, certainly. But what does that rigid logic say, mm? Does it tell you no? To run? To escape me?” He knew better than to think that her mind would ever tell her to run. Her fear of him was no more than justified caution. Dracula returned his hands to her as he closed the gap. “Or is it silent now? All those silly little reservations you’ve had for weeks… You can’t tell me you haven’t been curious, even for a nun of your standing.”
“A vampire, now, remember?” She forced a steady breath and worked her jaw, ignoring the stir in her core when he spoke. “Thanks to you.”
“Ah, as much as I would love to take full credit for corrupting you, I’m afraid you drained that man of your own volition,” he pointed out, dark eyes trained on her. In them, she could see more than she ever could before. His pride, his yearning, his pain. “Agatha Van Helsing, the first Queen of vampires. A merciful murderess, an angel of death.”
“Hardly,” she insisted, steadying herself to the point of shedding herself of her humanities as his thumbs massaged her clothed skin. Her chest stilled and her eyes were unblinking as he moved a hand to her chin, drawing her face closer.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
Her eyes flitted beyond him to the deep grey casting upon the horizon, the water turning a strange obsidian, before refocusing on him. She could not deny that she wanted to feel him inside of her or that she hadn’t thought of how or if a vampire could in fact have sex to completion. Beyond her curiosity, need burned within her as though she carried Hell itself inside of her. “Count Dr--”
The look in her eyes must have been enough to give him permission. His mouth crashed upon hers in a punishing kiss and she parted her lips for him, his name lost as a groan against him. Dracula’s fingers trailed down her habit, bunching it in his hold until she could feel the wind against her thighs. He withdrew from her lips and watched as he pulled the fabric up, revealing her skin to him. It occurred to her then that he had not taken advantage of his position when she was unconscious aboard the ship.
‘Ah, you think so lowly of me as to take to rape?’ he inquired within her mind, clearly injured by her silent implication.
‘You did with Harker, did you not? And your brides? The second mate, even,’ she returned as she stepped out of his hold. Even as a monster, she would not bed a rapist. Harker had not given a solid answer, but it was to be assumed.
“Is that what he told you?” Dracula pulled back for a moment and laughed with disbelief. “The kiss of the vampire is an opiate, Agatha. I made them dream, but I did not dishonor them. Why would I need to play with my food in such a way? It would spoil the flavor. As for my brides, I won’t sleep with an unwilling participant.”
He was on her again, his kiss much gentler as his fingers threaded through her knotted and soaked hair. Agatha found truth in his words, knowing too well that his narcissism would not take kindly to such an act and eased into the kiss. His lead was easy to follow and they moved as a single unit closer inland. The gravelly sand underfoot should have hurt more than it did, but the sensation only stimulated her more as his hands returned to her habit.
“Stay out of my head,” she breathed between his lips and he drank in the words with delight. A smile twitched at the edges of his mouth.
“No promises,” he murmured in return, drawing the habit up her torso. “Now, be a lamb and lift your arms so I can take you properly. We haven’t much time to waste.”
She shot him a glare but obeyed, lifting her arms and exposing herself before Dracula. The moment that followed had been spent in deliberation. She wanted to cover herself but the way he was looking at her with obvious depraved sin made her smirk and shake her head. “Even now you act as a beast.”
“Don’t feed me that line, Agatha. Not when you’re standing so beautifully exposed for me,” he cautioned before dipping his head and hand to her breast. Her nipple perked under the exploratory flick of his tongue and she drew in a quick breath. He brought his head up, leaving his fingers to idly play at her raised flesh. “How long has it been for you? Not by your own hand, but from another. I know you weren’t pure when you took your vows. How long?”
“Twenty-five years. I was seventeen and unwed. Why does that interest you?” Agatha hooked her index finger into his slacks and guided his hips closer so she could work at his belt. “Did you think I would say sooner?”
“I was asleep for a week, I wasn’t sure if the dear captain had tried and succeeded. The way he looked at you, obeyed you like he was your slave. I should have bled him worse than I had.”
The quiet snarl in his throat grew nearly imperceptible as he took possession of her mouth, claiming her with every impertinent motion. Below, his fingers rested on hers, guiding her in the undoing of his belt, the button of his slacks, and then released her as she worked at his zipper. He took her face in one hand while he stepped out of his slacks in an easy motion. Agatha wanted to protest, to defend the captain, but he had her in a hold from which there was no exit.
She heard his shoes clatter against the rocks behind them as he left her mouth sore and panting for breath. She realized then that it was a human habit that would be lost to her in the coming years. Still, she could not pass the opportunity to probe him, provoke him, draw out the beast until it roared in her face.
“Jealous of a man who can do as he’s told?”
Dracula’s nostril twitched impatiently, but he did not reply. The sky around them turned a dark grey as clouds rolled in from the sea. Perhaps, they would have more than the time the Earth granted them.
“Well?”
“I could never be jealous of such a man. Too weak to act on desire, too soft to take risks. Hardly a captain if you ask me. Martyrs are a pestilence upon this Earth. So eager to die without truly knowing how it feels to live.”
“Then why want to bleed him?” Her insistence earned her a hand on her hip that spun her in his hold and pulled her flush against him. She could feel his cock throbbing against her rear as he reflexively swayed his hips forward. The hand at her hip crept towards her center while the other took her throat.
He entreated a hum of unbridled delight in her ear as he dipped his finger between her folds and found himself instantly coated. “Because he wanted you. He wanted to have you, Agatha. How could I let another man have the life promised to me? By your own words, I have you.”
She shuddered against him as the heat within her unfurled and spilled into her abdomen. He prodded experimentally against her entrance, earning a frustrated groan from the woman in his arms. “You seek to own me, then?”
“I could and will spend an eternity trying. For now, I will take you as I know I can have you,” he purred shamelessly as he ran the pad of his finger against her clit, wetting it with her own juices. He released her neck, cupped her left breast, and kissed the side of her head. His other hand was preoccupied circling her nub. Agatha arched her back against him as a trembling whimper spilled from her lips. “Do you think you would be this ready for me if you weren’t undead?”
He should know the answer by now. Her body had been willing from the start, her mind took a moment to catch up. Dracula had her where he wanted her, but was taking his time. Why? As he said earlier, they hadn’t much time to waste. Why was he dawdling now?
She turned once again in his hold and took his cock in her hand, gently rubbing his cockhead with her thumb. “Temptation is nothing more than curiosity. I follow peculiarities which interest me and you happen to be one of them. But I’m learning you quicker than I thought. Now, cease this tedious small talk.”
He palmed her ass with both hands then clamped down on the flesh in his hold. The shock of pain rocked through her and she tightened her grip on him, his shaft pulsating in her grasp. She released his cock and held to the back of his neck, a silent command. Dracula lifted her into the air and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him, staring him down as he beamed up at her.
“And I thought I’d have you in a proper bed,” he chuckled as he walked them up the hill and lowered her down in the first patch of dew covered grass he could find. The cold beneath her came as shock and she arched her back, nipples rubbing against his torso. “But I suppose there is always next time.”
He shifted down in the grass and spread her legs wider, separating her folds with two fingers and marveling at the glistening wetness that awaited him. “I always loved a lively one, but a wicked one… So willing and so open for me. Agatha, you’re amazing.”
“Spare me your self-praise, Count,” she shot as her eyes darkened and her cheeks burned. Like a thief caught in the act, Agatha could not deny how his words melted her and sent a wave of heat crashing over her. She squirmed under him and dug her heels into his flanks. “Why are you stalling?”
A rumble above them pulled her attention away from him. Her gaze moved to the sky and noticed the way the clouds churned above them. There was a storm on the horizon. He would be safe in its darkness until he had his way with her and she knew it. Almost too convenient.
Her gaze snapped back to him and glared up at him with her accusation clear on her expression.
“I swear this wasn’t me,” he admitted with a grin, flashing his teeth to her as he sat back and turned his head toward the sky. She studied how the muscles in his neck stretched, the way his lips parted as he looked up, and found herself wandering into dangerous territory.
“How fate favors the bold.” His words brought her back to reality, away from forbidden thoughts, and more importantly, back to him. She shivered and dropped her head against the ground as he pushed a finger into her and curled it, instantly finding her sweet spot. Agatha’s mouth teetered between open and shut as a hitched breath slipped into the late night air.
He withdrew from her delicious heat and plunged back in, another finger added. She wanted to curse him for watching her pant beneath him without giving her more, undoing her with nothing more than his hand. Twenty-five years without sex had left her starved for contact, a hunger long forgotten until he stood before her, naked and unabashed at the convent.
“I’m surprised you’re responding so well to my hand alone. Did you not take care of yourself in the nunnery, Agatha?” The count shifted so he was looming over her, face close as he thrust and twisted his fingers. He curled the digits inside of her over and over, lapping at that one spot that was causing her to shake uncontrollably. “Shall I make you come for me? Do you want me to give you your release?”
He had her lost and rocking against him, her walls clenching around his unrelenting fingers. Agatha forced her head up, bruising his lips in a kiss that was more of a bite. A chance to cling to reality.
“Darling, your teeth are rather sharp now. Be mindful not to rip my lip off,” he laughed quietly against her mouth, kissing her back and pried his way into her mouth. She felt the slick of his tongue against her own as though every nerve was on high alert. His fingers stilled inside of her. “Answer me. Do you want to come?”
“Bastard,” she whined and dropped her head against the grass. Her chest heaved as she glared up at him. He removed a digit from her and raised his brow. God, he was going to torment her. Dracula was going to make her beg for her release. She swallowed what shred of her decency remained and closed her eyes. “Please.”
Another crack of thunder.
“I’m sorry? What was that? You’re going to have to speak up. I’m afraid the weather is a bit tumultuous in these parts.” His amusement was palpable as he curled the lone finger inside of her. She was caught between a groan and a growl as she began to tighten around him again.
Another stroke, then another, then another, each slower, deeper, more deliberate. He played with her, giving her just enough stimulation to want more, but not enough to grant her satisfaction. “I’m waiting.”
She could have punched him--should have punched him. He was self-righteous in every sense, but the way his simper played as his lips as his second middle finger rejoined his index inside of her threw those--and all--thoughts to the wayside. His slow, scorching kiss was an added bonus.
“La petite mort,” she whispered hoarsely against his lips before capturing them again. The kiss was fast and hard as Dracula drew his head back and smiled down at her.
“The only you’ll ever have.” A promise.
The rain began to fall around them as he trailed down her body, his fingers working idly inside of her. She arched her back in whatever direction his lips went. Down her sternum, to her breasts, pecked every rib with care, he traveled down to her core.
“I wonder how you taste.” His breath was hot against her before reaching his tongue out to graze against her nub. Once, twice, three times over before he looked up at her. “Exquisite.”
She pushed herself up to watch as he worked her over. The sight of him fucking her with his mouth and hand enough make her cry out; the sensation enough to make it lost in thick, incomprehensible Dutch. When he brought his eyes to hers, Agatha’s abdomen clenched. He looked near feral with lust but focused entirely on her pleasure. She could not deny the ravenous beauty between her thighs.
Her hips bucked against his mouth, but he held her down with his free hand, pinning her in place as he drank her in. Agatha felt her walls constricting around him, her mind going numb as her world crashed beautifully around her. Dracula removed his fingers from her body and moved to swipe away every last decadent drop of her release with his tongue.
“Brute,” she panted when he finally separated his mouth from her, licking his lips to clean up the remainder of her orgasm.
“I’ve been called worse,” he returned as he trailed kisses back up her body.
“Mm,” was all she managed to get out before he kissed her with a muted fervor. If she hadn’t known better, Agatha would almost mistake it for tenderness.
“Now.” He glanced between them, observing every part of her, as though memorizing her features. Another rumble of thunder sounded as lightning veined through the sky. Through the shadows the brief instant of light caused, Agatha could have sworn she saw something bittersweet in his expression. “Shall we begin?”
Whatever she thought she saw…it was gone, replaced by a wolfish grin and eyes as dark as pits. She glanced down in time to watch Dracula align his cock at her entrance. Her nerves buzzed endlessly as he rubbed his hardened length between her folds, coating himself in her juices.
“Fute,” came his moan as his cockhead dipped inside of her. She had two options. Fute in French, meaning something that’s cute. Or her second choice, Fute in Romanian, meaning fuck. Agatha had many vices in life, gambling being one of them. The higher the stakes, the greater the reward.
“You will mind your tongue while inside of me.”
“Oh, that’s right. You speak Romanian, don’t you?” His uttered inquiry was painted in obvious amusement. He clearly missed the other obvious truth to her statement. Like it or not, she was what Dracula would call his bride. All languages were the same.
“There is a certain level of study and exploration that requires the knowledge of many languages,” she explained as he stilled his head inside of her. There was genuine interest in his eyes, but he pushed deeper into her with a slow thrust of his hips. A groan escaped her and echoed against the rocks as he filled her, his cock pulsing against her tight walls. Her arms wrapped tightly around his back, nails hooking into his skin, as he pushed a bit further, hitting her limit as he bottomed out.
She cried out his name into the last of the fading night as he pulled his hips back slowly, nearly exiting her entirely, before thrusting back into her. The storm raged around them, but they ignored it entirely. Agatha could only focus on the way his cock felt buried inside of her and the small grunts and moans he made with each movement.
“I misspoke earlier when I called you wicked,” he uttered, his breath hitching as her nails split open the skin upon his back. “Wicked is fun. Lively is dangerous. Feral is useless. But you, Agatha…”
Her name was a groan on his lips as he shifted to meet her gaze. Dracula withdrew from her completely, paused for a moment to take in the sight of her, and thrust mercilessly back into her. His pace felt like a prayer and a punishment inside of her. “You are perfect.”
Pressure built within her as he continued to angle himself perfectly, pushing deep inside of her to hit every possible spot he could. “Perfect.”
Her lips met his halfway as he lost his rhythm, his ministrations erratic as he started to chase his high. With the rain crashing down around them, their bodies slid easily together, and Dracula did not have to wait long for his release. A stuttered moan tore through his throat as he buried himself deep within her and spilled inside of her once, another thrust, twice. He pushed inside of her one final time and Agatha lost herself to him. “Perfect.”
She clung to him as she came, one hand buried in his hair, the other clutching his shoulder as her legs wrapped around his waist, securing him tightly inside of her. A silent, shaking breath that turned into a cry of reverence. Hot tears pricked at the corners of her tightly closed eyes as her orgasm overtook her, her head dropping back. Her legs trembled as she slowly released her hold of him. Liquid beads rolled down her temples from sheer pleasure.
Dracula’s jaw slacked as he looked upon her, exhausted and appeased. He did that to her, to the nun who swore his death, and she had wanted every second of it. As a nun, no, as a human, she could not allow herself such sin; as a vampire, however, she knew herself to be damned and could sin without consequence to her mortal soul.
She gasped as he pulled out of her, her body still crackling with excitement. If her heart could beat it would be throbbing, her lungs would burn, and she doubted that her pelvis would still be in one piece.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then to her cheek, and at last her lips before he fell to the earth next to her. The storm continued to rage around them and only when the thunder crashed in the sky did she notice that she was in Dracula’s hold. Her head was on the undamaged part of his chest, arm wrapped comfortably around him while he held her to him.
“I need to give you something before I go,” announced the Count without preamble.
Agatha propped herself up to look at him and took note of the severity of his tone.
“The estate and some funds to return to Holland. You’re going to need to rest at some point. The less a vampire rests, the weaker they become, the stronger their impulses become. While you have extraordinary self-control, I don’t think you’ll last through the week without needing to feed again, especially with how low that poor fellow was.”
Reality seeped back into the forefront of Agatha’s mind as he sat them both up. She was going to need to feed and who she fed on decided how she was to live her life.
“I’ll try to stay awake for as long as I can to help you through the first few ni--”
“Why would you offer your help now?” she interjected, perplexed.
“Because I enjoy you, Agatha Van Helsing, more than I’ve enjoyed anyone in hundreds of years,” he started curtly. “You deserve a fighting chance if you really are set on staking me.”
“Let me guess, under the condition that I do not do so while you sleep?”
Always an ultimatum.
“Precisely.”
“Then I have a condition of my own.”
“Name it.” He moved closer to her as he spoke, fingers moving strands of soaking hair behind her ear with a grin on his face. She hated him for the warmth that unfurled in her stomach at the touch.
“If I figure out, with certainty, what it is you fear, I get to wake you early.”
His smile grew as a breath of laughter left him. “Is that all?”
She nodded her head as he moved in to take her lips. A kiss of excitement, of challenge. Another game for them to play. Another hunt. This time, he was the prey. She returned it with equal but opposite emotion. There was devastation in her kiss, a promise to him that she would be back before he would wake.
“Agatha, while I’m certain of your ability of discovery, I don’t think our reunion will go as you are currently anticipating. Here,” he beckoned as he reached for the ring upon his finger. “Proof enough that you are a member of my house to get you into Carfax Abbey. From there, contact my law firm, the paperwork should be there. Johnny made sure of it before he traveled to Transylvania. You should be able to access some of my banking information, if not, you can always talk your way onto a ship, I’m sure.”
Even when emerging from the wolf, Dracula had not taken the ring off. The significance of it was not lost to her as he set it in her palm. There was something about the situation that disturbed her. She should be refusing him. Killing him then and there, taking out him and any vampire he may have ever created. Hold him to the sunlight, something.
But she only listened. Perhaps, she wanted the fair fight he was offering her. Or maybe he had a stronger influence over her than she thought. Or perhaps it was something else entirely that gave her pause. Regardless, as the Count continued to instruct her, she committed every word to memory.
She followed him to the water after they were done talking. The gravel underfoot was much softer with the rainfall. As they reached nearer to the shore, he surrendered his clothes to her as hers were covered with blood and unfit to wear into town. She was going to have to claim her status as his wife, no doubt an amusing part of the plan for him.
“I’m going to miss you. Find somewhere safe, will you? I’d hate to find out you burned to dust on your first day.” He smirked at her, admiration aglow in his dark eyes as the sky lightened behind the clouds.
“I’m sure you’ll manage. Goodbye, Count Dracula,” she stated and extended her hand.
Dracula scoffed at her formality and took her hand in his. He turned it so her knuckles were bent and placed a kiss upon their ridges. Before she could have time to protest, he pulled her against him, his lips crashing down on hers. A low growl sounded deep in his chest as she met his kiss with matched passion.
“Easy, boy.” She was going to miss him.
“One last thing,” he muttered as he pressed his forehead to hers.
“You’re really playing with fire, aren’t you?” She was going to miss him.
“Not the first time,” chuckled Dracula as he raised his wrist to her. “Drink.”
“What? Why?” Agatha shot him a confused look.
He sliced at the flesh with his thumb, the blood running down his forearm within seconds. “Over four-hundred years of knowledge is why. You need to know things that I don’t have time to explain. Drink.”
She nodded, took his forearm in her hold, her fangs extending, and sank her teeth into him. Thousands of memories burst into color. Wars, trades, murders, usurpations, lovers, lives, deaths… Everything played out in her mind as she drank. Her world expanded tenfold and she moaned as he held her steady to him.
She tightened her hold on him and pressed her weight into him until he fell back against the sand under him. Agatha broke from his arm as she felt emotion sweep over her that was not her own. She moved to straddle him, undoing the too long pants around her waist and kicked them off.
The whites of her eyes darkened into crimson as she looked down at him, her hand reaching behind her and grabbing at his already half-hard shaft. She moved forward, glanced at his jugular, and descended upon the expanse.
“We don’t have time to--” His speech was lost as she sank her teeth into him. She released her hold of his erection and focused on the way his blood ran through his artery, but did not drink from him. “Agatha…”
Before she had time to act, Dracula sat up, his hand moving between them to guide him to her entrance once more. He sank into her without hesitation and began thrusting his hips with what all that he had left. Agatha cried out, involuntarily parting from his neck, and brought her lips to his. She held him in a breathless kiss as he moved into her, relentless and final, clinging to whatever she picked up in his blood.
He came first, thrusting up into her and groaning something in Romanian as he filled her yet again. Dracula shifted to make her more comfortable, continued his pace, remaining hard as his thumb snaked between them to find her nub. Once found, he teased it out of time with the roll of his hips, sending her over the top. She curled against him as she came, fingers balling into fists against his shoulders.
“How did it taste?” he asked as she lifted herself off of him. Agatha looked to the slacks beside her but decided to not put them on. Not while she was dripping from both of them.
“Like blood,” she lied as she stood and headed for the water. She knew he wouldn’t settle for that answer. His ego wouldn’t allow him.
“I could find out for myself you know. One little listen to your thoughts and I can know the truth,” he reminded as he followed her.
“Do as you must,” instructed Agatha unfazed by his threat, the water pooling around her waist. He turned his gaze to the sky and noticed the light growing, his nostrils twitching impatiently. She looked to her side and noticed him standing beside her, staring down at her. “Return to your box, Dracula, before we both turn to ash.”
He took a few steps forward then paused. She watched as he turned in the water just enough for his eyes to meet hers. “Stay alive, Agatha. It would be an awfully boring future without you.”
Fandom: Dracula (2020)
Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing
Relationship: Dracula/Agatha
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: None
Word Count: 5,812
Summary: "The question caught her off guard, stunning her into the silence that he had been in moments earlier. Her mouth opened but no sound made its escape, no words, no explanation. Nothing. Silence. How could she tell him?"
Fifty years. It had only taken fifty years to figure him out. However, Agatha had not anticipated the cost at which her discovery would come.;;
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Fifty long years, two world wars, a pandemic, stock market crashes, and more bloodshed than she thought possible…
Yet all of that was forgotten as she stepped onto the beach once more, the Sun falling behind her as it slipped to the other side of the world. Agatha looked out into the water, her mind awash with too many complications, too many variables, too many unsaid words. Her right index and middle finger idly played at the ring on her left hand. She found through time that it was something to keep her grounded when her anxieties grew.
The one who had granted her extended existence rested in the waters below, silent and unmoving for half a century. She could have cursed him for taking so long, had cursed him in the worst of her nights, fought to wake him as he dreamed. Agatha had called to him when she had needed him, but received no answer. He was a ghost in the shadows of her memory, it seemed.
Until she stepped into the sunlight and began to put together the pieces of the puzzle. She knew why he had taken his time that night, as the sun rose behind the clouds, why he wanted her to live, why he stalked the night. Agatha had at last started to know him.
He was not the proud warlord she had met at the convent, the feral beast that maimed and killed without justification, nor the valorous nobleman he had been in life. Count Dracula, prince among vampires feared death itself.
When revelation struck her, she had been idly nursing a glass, the donated blood of a living--and willing--participant. The sun came into her home as light shone onto the rebuilding community surrounding her. War had ravaged the streets, lives had been lost, and a mere man existed with a higher body count than Dracula could dream of. Such a foul monstrosity as Adolf Hitler feared capture, but not death, choosing instead to take his own life.
The duffel at her side had her surname printed into it, a memento of a few years gone by, a shell-shocked world plundered into bloodshed and death. She needed to be someone for the people, a helper, a doctor who could save more lives than would be lost. And she had offered her services, providing mildly falsified documentation of her qualifications.
Dates became tedious through the years. Medical school had been a particularly trying time in her life, a place where she learned to rid herself of all feral desire for blood. The crimson liquid so beloved by the Count had been nothing more than sustenance for her.
With the last of the light fading behind her, Agatha stripped from her clothes, long having abandoned the shreds of modesty that remained in her and tucked them hurriedly into the duffel. The last bit of reservation slipped away with her bra. Only the ring remained as she stepped into the water.
Every step she took felt heavy, too slow, as if gravity had increased on her in a way she could not stop. Through the years, she had not lost the flavor of his blood or what she read in it, having had time to make sense of it. Agatha had turned the sensation over and over in her head for months until it had nearly driven her mad.
Her belly twisted with an ache so familiar to her, she couldn’t help but move forward. Truth had been one reason for her return, yes. But the other was much less commendable and so very unlike the Agatha he had known years prior. Her mission had changed. Her entire life had changed on account of him, on account of his blood.
Why?
She spotted his watery tomb and swore she felt her heart beat for the first time in half a century. He was there and she could feel him, unaware and comatose though he was. And she ran to him as if on land, personal reservations and gravity be damned. Agatha blinked slowly as she at last gazed upon his crate, untouched in the years she had been gone. No rot, no barnacles, no change. Fifty years without his touch, without hearing his voice, without his pestering and snide remarks.
She had missed him.
Prying the top of the crate off proved easy enough and she gasped in the water as she set her sights on him once more; just as unworldly handsome as the morning they parted. Before she had time to reach down and lift him out of the dirt, his eyes snapped open. They were red and hungry, his mouth opening to show the beast’s fangs. Then, Dracula shot up, wasting not a second to have her in his arms, his cold body pressed hers as he kissed her with painful reverence.
‘Not here,’ she demanded as she kissed him back and pulled away from him. The water made it near impossible to do anything properly, let alone what was the only thing on either of their minds.
‘How long, Agatha? How long has it been?’ His inquiry, even in her mind, easily conveyed what his body had already betrayed. A low, vibrating hum sounded in her throat, somewhere teetering between human and supernatural, as he gathered her into his arms and began the walk to shore.
‘Fifty years.’
Fifty grueling years to wait to feel his calloused hands at her skin, his furred chest against her, those coal dark eyes watching her every movement. She had dreamed of this moment, literally, for decades. Stolen moments in the shadows of her existence as she slept, she plunged into the water and was taken by him over and over, and never once did she wish for it to stop.
‘I’m surprised you didn’t get here sooner,’ he professed as they erupted from the water. “I expected y--”
She knew why he stopped the moment she followed his eyes. Fifty years since feeding, of course his gaze would be drawn to the duffel. “I brought you something to eat.”
“Your voice,” he noted with scrunched brows before smiling at her, a quick peck to her lips. “Seems I’m not the only one with a taste for English cuisine.”
She ignored his comment as she crawled out of his hold and made her way to the bag. He remained on her heels until she bent down and rummaged through the sac, pulling out a thermos of warm blood. “Here.”
He grabbed the thermos and looked questioningly at it. “What is this?”
“Blood.”
Dracula rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I know that. But where did it come from? Why is it no--”
The scathing glare she shot him was enough to shut him up and she had to hide the smirk that spread across her lips. He opened the lid and a deep rumble reverberated in his chest. Agatha bit at her lip as the sound caught her off-guard, tumbling down to her core, an inaudible moan leaving her mouth as a breath.
His fingers tightened around the metal as he brought the canister to his mouth and drank deep, finishing it in a single, long gulp. The manner in which he licked at the rim as the last few drops dripped into his maw reminded her of how that tongue felt between her thighs. His snarl into the open air as he savored the taste was debauched, drenched in his particular brand of devilry. He turned to her, chest heaving. “More.”
“Impatient as ever,” she huffed as she stood, another thermos in her left hand. There was a grin on her face. “You have to work for this one.”
“Are you challenging a starved vampire?” He stalked closer to her, his eyes burning into her as his features twitched, exasperated. His hand shot out, seized her wrist, and trailed his gaze beyond the thermos, over her fingers to the pale of her knuckles.
His ring.
“Open it,” ordered the Count as he snapped his attention back to her. She knew she had been caught but did not care. Agatha wanted him to see his ring upon her finger, wanted him to know that she had kept her word those many years ago. “Agatha.”
He was pleading, in his own way. Her grip tightened around the metal, intentionally defying his wishes just to rile him. She missed the way her name sounded on his lips, no matter how it was spoken.
“Agatha Van Helsing. Open it or I will tear you apart.”
Fuck.
“Recycled lines are not befitting of you.”
She reached up, not breaking her gaze from his, and twisted the lid open. The metal of the cap clattered against the ground as she raised the thermos to his lips. He released his grip on her wrist and placed it at her waist instead, squeezing so tightly she thought he would tear right through her flesh. With his free hand, he took the canister from her, turned his head, tilted it up and finished it as quickly as the first. Blood ran down the corners of his mouth as he turned back to her, letting the container drop beside them.
“Wasteful,” she scolded as though the depraved sight didn’t cripple her self-control. He closed the space between them, the back of his fingertips tracing her down cheek with all the tenderness in the world. Her eyelids wavered but she focused on him all the same, her chest moving for the first time in what felt like years.
“I was planning on sharing,” he breathed softly, a growl still rumbling in his chest as he spoke. His voice was nearly inaudible, even to her and she did not have time to respond before he kissed her. Blood smudged on her face as her teeth sharpened at the scent. He was slow and delicate, taking his time to savor the way she moved perfectly with him. She sighed away from the kiss, her tongue slowly trailing up the thin lines of blood, cleaning them from him, purifying him. A satisfied breath played at her cheek when she returned to his mouth.
“I missed you.” He ran his fingers down her arms, taking in the way her skin felt under him. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, wanting nothing more than to have him where he stood.
‘I missed you, too,’ she thought, only to herself, and parted from him. There was much to do and even more to discuss. While she wanted nothing more than to get their reunion out of the way, he couldn’t take her right then and there. It wasn’t the nineteenth century anymore.
“I know,” he purred, self satisfied, as though he knew she wouldn’t speak the words aloud. “But why can’t I?”
“You promised me a bed,” remarked Agatha as she bent down to her duffel once more and pulled two towels from its seemingly never-ending depths. “Here, you need to dry off. I won’t have you ruining my car.”
“Car?” He gave a quizzical look then moved his tongue around in his mouth as he thought. “Ah, what an interesting invention. And you drive one?”
She pointed a little ways up the embankment before she rang her coffee colored locks out, the curls damnable in her now untreated hair. He started for it, the towel wrapped tightly around his waist. As Agatha watched him, she realized the cloth barely ran to his knees. Had his legs always been so long?
Yes.
She thought back to the first time she set her eyes on him, only minuscule parts of her still affected by the horror of the situation. In her prolonged existence, she had seen worse crimes committed by mortal men.
How his legs stretched out, his flaccid cock brushing against his thigh as he panted and snarled like a rabid animal, had been a display. He knew how to size himself, whether intentionally or not. Dracula had the stature of a person who knew how to wield power.
She knew him now and every action he made held a strange sense to her. Every step he took, every motion, every word, all of him made sense to her. However, her attraction to him could not be snuffed out. If anything, it pulled her closer.
Agatha shook the thought from her mind and focused on drying and dressing herself. As she was getting ready to pull her underwear a hand stopped her, ripping the garment from her body. Of course he would interrupt at the last moment, her bra and blouse already on. His hand slid down the soft curve of her rear and slipped between her legs. She instinctively pushed against him and her back arched, a muffled keening spilling into her tightly shut mouth. A woman crying out in such a time did not go as ignored as it had in the past.
He pressed his middle finger to her entrance and easily sank into the slick warmth. She looked behind her and saw him kneel onto the earth beneath him. They couldn’t, not there, not then, but the way his finger played at her had Agatha second guessing.
“Oh, my sweet Agatha. Already so willing for me to take you, aren’t you? Do you want me to reclaim you?” The last bit of his scorching words had her reeling. She hadn’t slept with anyone else, not even as a thought. How could she? No one could compare to him and they both knew it. He wanted to see if she would say it…
He withdrew his finger from her, a low curse tumbling from her lips, and guided her to her knees. “Be quiet if you must, but I haven’t tasted you in half a century.”
He spread her legs and ran a hand along her spine, gently pushing her torso down to reveal his prize to him. She could feel her juices dripping into the night air and knew she should feel exposed to the world. She should, but his mouth was on her then, a growl sounding in his throat as he sucked once at her clit. The sound of their connection rang as absolute sin and she pushed tighter against him. Agatha should have denied him, made him wait, but in earnest, she was getting exactly what she wanted.
“No one else,” she uttered as she fought to stay focused on memorizing how he felt on her. Her low cry as he probed her earned a groan from him, vibrating against her core and making her wince. “There’s been no one else.”
“So faithful, you are,” he hummed against her clit, a smile causing his teeth to brush into her. Dracula shuffled until he was lying beneath her, head planted firmly between her legs. She glanced down, a question in her eyes that was very quickly answered when he pulled her to him. A moan crept from the depths of her throat as he flicked his tongue hard against the nub. “And you even have the ring to prove it.”
“N-no time. I was too busy to sleep with anyone else,” she lied as he shifted her down further, her core pressed directly against his mouth. “F-fu--”
‘Ah-ah, best watch that tongue of yours, my dear. Your precious God may be watching.’
She groaned, having never been one for exhibitionism and silently pleaded for him to be done with his indulgence, despite the euphoria that spread through her body.. Truth be told, Agatha wanted more, wanted him, wanted everything from the way he worked between her thighs. Such a sight to behold as she looked down at him.
‘Not yet, remember? By your orders, we have to wait.’
She ground her hips into him, rocking as he turned his tongue over her clit, probed her, took her, claimed her. Her head dipped back, one hand tangled in his hair while the other grasped at his bent thigh for support. No amount of bracing could prepare her for how her body clenched around him as she fought off her orgasm. She didn’t want it to be over so soon. She wanted more, she wanted him, for eternity. But his voice, thick and low, entered her mind, imparting her ruin.
‘Come for me, Agatha.’
She fell around him, her hands clinging to his scalp as if she’d fall off the earth if she let go. Agatha’s legs shook and struggled to hold her up, but his hands were there at her hips to support her. Her orgasm hit her again as he greedily swept between her folds and she cried his name into the air.
Her ears rang as his grip loosened and released her, shifting under her so she was sitting on his chest. “Perfect.”
She moved so she was right against his hardened cock and wanted nothing more than to sink onto him. Her restraint was failing her, but she did not want it to happen here, not all of it. Agatha didn’t want all of England to see her undone.
“I brought a change of clothes,” she muttered down at him, unable to hide the satisfied smile fixed on her lips. He was beautiful beneath her, the corners of his mouth pulled back in a grin, a satisfied man. She had to kiss him, had to have more of him, if only for a moment.
As if reading her mind, and he probably had, Dracula pulled her down and took her lips. It was the second time she had ever tasted her own release in his kiss, but it still set her on edge. How could such depravity make her feel so complete?
“Dress yourself. I’ll be waiting by the car,” she instructed as she sat up.
‘My turn,’ she hummed in her head as she leaned down to give him another peck on the lips before she stood and finished dressing. Agatha looked down at her ruined underwear and picked them up along with the thermoses he felt compelled to toss wherever he pleased.
“We’ve no need to come back for your box. I already have something prepared that I think will be to your liking,” she explained as she walked by him, dropping the items into the duffel, and pretended not to see cock twitching as he brought his slacks over it. “Bring the bag with you.”
She stopped at the passenger side door and watched as he walked up the beach. The suit fit him nicely, complementing both his style and form. A sharp black three-piece that shifted easily over his body. But she couldn’t let herself get distracted by the sight of him lest she miss her window of opportunity.
“You brought soil to England for me? Agatha Van Helsing, have I found a soft spot in you?”
“You’ve found many spots in me,” she stated matter-of-factly as he stood before her, looking her over with pride. “But enough stroking your ego, come.”
He obeyed and watched as she opened the car door and sat inside. She beckoned him closer and her fingers made fast work of his pants. The Count stared down, impressed by the way they pooled at his ankles. She didn’t give him much time for admiration as she wrapped her fingers delicately around his shaft and placed a kiss at his cockhead.
She shifted in the seat, moving closer to him, her tongue coming out to run the underside of his length. She heard a soft groan from above her and knew she had permission to continue. He shifted his hips as she coated his cock in her saliva, letting her tongue drip onto him until he was slick. One hand steadied his hips while the other focused on working his shaft.
Dracula’s head tilted back as Agatha took him inch by inch into her mouth. Her lips tightened around him as she pulled her head back, careful to attend to him with her tongue as she went. He brought a hand into her half dry hair, looked down at her, and watched as she, his nun, his devout, broke him into euphoric pieces.
“What trouble that mouth of yours will get you into,” he murmured as he shifted himself deeper into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat. “Do you think you can take it all, Agatha?”
Such wicked words hit her ears and she moved the hand on his cock to his other hip. Dracula’s other hand joined atop her head, holding her steady as he slowly pushed deeper still into her mouth until her nose rubbed against his curls.
He groaned as she moved along him, beautifully in time with the sway of his hips when he could no longer refrain from rocking into her mouth. Before either of them could realize, he pulled almost entirely from the heat of her and plunged himself back in, finding a faster, shorter pace that she could handle while she let him use her. She steadied herself, doing what she could to aid in his release as precum spilled into her mouth, coating her throat as he rolled into her.
His hips stuttered as he came in her mouth with a low moan, his hands untangling from her brunette locks, and looked down to see her swallowing his seed. Surely she had done this before. She had to have. Agatha moved out of the seat, wiping away what remained of the mixture of cum and saliva from her mouth, and gave him a hard look as he pulled his slacks up.
“I heard that,” she muttered as she reached for the duffel. Presumptuous bastard. “Fifty years later and still a beast.”
“Agatha, anyone who can move their mouth like that should not be a nun or anywhere near a church,” he returned and caught her in his hold. She turned her head to meet his kiss before he could initiate and smiled as he laughed against her lips. “Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”
“Doctor.”
He tilted his head in confusion as she moved to the other side of the car. “Doctor?”
“I’m a doctor now.”
“Scientific or medical?” His curiosity piqued, he took the seat she had been in moments earlier. The duffel was tossed in the backseat before she started the vehicle.
“Medical. I was a surgeon in the second world war. It ended four years ago,” she explained as she pulled away.
“Second?”
The drive into town was spent regaling tales of her time in medical school, how she feeds, and how life had changed since he slept. He had been particularly interested in the Spanish Flu and returned with tales of previous pandemics and how humans never change or learn. She found that talking to him had been the easiest conversation for her in years. And she damned herself for it.
When they returned, he grabbed the bag from the back, eyes wide in wonder as he looked around him. Electricity, cars, what a lively world the future was. He looked to her, excitement clear, and she couldn’t help but return his smile. Most of what was around them had come at a great cost, but she would not bore him with the details.
“So this is where you live? A bit...underwhelming, don’t you think?” Dracula turned his attention to the small home before him, no lights on in the windows. “Unlimited power and you still choose modesty?”
“Not everyone indulges in their narcissism,” she retorted, the smile diminishing from her face. The door was up the small path and she knew it was time for her first test. “But yes, this is my home.”
She walked by him, grabbed at her house key, and unlocked the door. There was a light switch just inside and she flicked it on. Part of her chest ached as she stepped inside. Fifty years he’d been asleep. Fifty extra years, he avoided any danger. He cheated that which he so feared.
“Agatha,” he called, a scoff sounding after her name, “aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Oh, yes. You can set the duffel bag just inside. I have work to do.” She dared not think of what she was doing lest he listen in to her thoughts. He was still new to the world around him, she was still new to him now.
“Are you inviting me in?”
“That depends,” she smirked, enjoying having the upper hand on him despite the circumstances. Her arms crossed her chest as she looked at him, careful not to hold his gaze for too long as he stood, unblinking, before her. “How badly do you want to come inside?”
“Playing games, are we? I must say, you have an interesting concept of foreplay.” His words were caught between annoyance and amusement.
No, not a game. A test.
“Rationalize to yourself why you wouldn’t be invited in,” she commanded, his attention snapping to her as he stepped at the threshold. They held each other’s gaze, silent and unmoving for moments. She wanted him in and he knew it. Still, he did not enter.
Did he have to hear it?
“If I don’t, you are free to run amok through all of England, leaving a path of slaughter and destruction in your wake. Why would I want that?” She was pressing him now, receding a single step back into the house. Another beat of silence and she turned, walking deeper into the house. “This is my home, purchased under your name. You d--”
“What name?” he asked as he stepped inside, cutting her off, his curiosity palpable.
She turned to face him, assumptions were apparently good enough. The heaviness in her chest lifted as she set her sights on the man currently in her home without invitation.
He gawked at her in response as a smile swept across her face. “What? What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I lied.”
His brows knit in confusion, tongue turning her phrase over soundlessly as his lips parted. “No, you didn’t. You said this was my house.”
“Would the deed be sufficient as evidence?” she asked taking a step toward him, unsure of how he would respond.
“What are you doing?” His confusion melted into unrest as he turned to look at the door and then his current position. Under the assumption that this was his house, he had entered it. However, Agatha was not telling him to leave and he felt no compulsion to do so. Perhaps it was her, because their blood flowed through each other’s veins.
“I said I would wake you when I came to understand you,” she started calmly. Agatha walked to the door, closed it, and locked it before she turned back to him. “I am keeping my word.”
“Through loopholes and trickery?” he inquired with a breath of empty laughter. He did his best to mask his annoyance, still too curious to find anger relevant. “Typical Catholic.”
She ignored his insult and returned to him. “Not trickery. Logic.”
“Lying is not logical, Agatha,” returned the Count, stepping closer to her.
“It is when your fears aren’t.”
Rip off the bandage. Get it out of the way. Move beyond it. Her desire to stake him had long since passed, but once they started a game, they had to finish. He would not be satisfied with a stalemate or a surrender.
He remained silent as he followed her through the hall and into the small kitchen. She invited him to the table, to which he refused to sit, choosing instead to lean against the counter on the other side of the room. His gaze was locked to her as his curiosity gave way to impatience.
“I’ve learned much in my time without you. At first I continued my research through conventional means,” she began, taking up residence against the table, her palms supporting her as she leaned against it, facing him. “But I stopped after the first two years. I was discovering nothing more. Without being active, there was no way to track you, to study your movements.”
He swallowed whatever retort he had. Good, he still knew when to let her explain, even if his eyes grew darker and his jaw tightened. She wondered if he felt trapped or if he expected her to come up empty again. But that was not the deal.
She had to be certain beyond doubt, beyond second guessing.
“I became my own test subject. Your bride at the castle had not feared the cross in Harker’s recount of his time with you and that led me to think. Why would you, if goodness or holiness had nothing to do with it? Why would you fear the sun? Why would you, a man of exceptional power and pride, be confined to the shadows?”
“Agatha,” he cautioned as his form grew rigid to keep him in place. Clearly his own subject not fearing the cross had been news to him.
“Please do not interrupt. I only get to say this once.” She raised a hand to silence him and crossed the kitchen to close the space between them. Agatha did not want to draw this out longer than necessary. “I have stepped into the sunlight, into churches, and homes without invitation. I’ve wasted muted prayers to a silent god before a crucifix and need not sleep in a bed of my own soil.”
“What are you getting at?”
“What I’m getting at, Count Dracula, is that I know you. I have tested every myth aside from driving a stake through your heart.”
“So you woke me up to what? Fuck me and then kill me?” He was changing the subject.
“Spare me your runaround. We both know that is not the reason,” she puffed and reached up to cradle his face. “I worked as fast as I could.”
“You could have broken your word,” he muttered as he leaned into her touch. Why was she being so gentle? She had a task and dropped her hand, retraining her focus. He did the same, knowing that his distraction had not worked. “Continue, since you’re such a persistent little thing.”
“You fear the idea of living but are without the courage to die. You’ve lost your ability to sacrifice yourself for ano--”
He grabbed her hips then, squeezing them painfully as he spun them around, setting her on the counter. She was close to the truth now and both knew it. He stared at her, silent and unmoving for nearly a minute. “One more word, Agatha. One more word and I swear I will burn England to the ground.”
“Someone tried that already,” she replied, her voice as level as it had been so long ago. “You’re a slave to your own fears. Too afraid to die, too afraid to live. Killing, feasting, and festering in the shadows when there’s been no need for the last four hundred and fifty years. You’ve convinced yourself that your habits are the laws by which you must live.”
He released his hold on her and took a step back, unsure of which way to move. She could tell he wanted to tear her apart, wanted to raze her house to dust with her along with it. It had been so long since she had seen that animal glint in his eye, that lust for destruction. A vampire’s version of a temper tantrum.
But he did not move. He only stood in the middle of her kitchen, staring at her.
“I considered waking you in the middle of the day,” she started as she slid from the counter. “But I figured that would be too much of a shock to your system. Having you come into my home of your own free will seemed much more practical.”
“No one, in over four hundred years, has had the audacity to speak to me that way.” Dracula finally broke silence, acting as though he had not heard her last statement. His words were as heavy as lead. “What makes you so sure of yourself?”
“It’s not me you’re doubting, Count.” Her words carried the excess compassion she had not been able to convey in her earlier lecture. Even in her success, her coveted prize made her feel unclean. But she would not break her word and despite his earlier suggestion, he would have been disappointed in her if she had.
“The ring,” he spoke softly, nearly a whisper, not meeting her eye. “Why have you kept it?”
The question caught her off guard, stunning her into the silence that he had been in moments earlier. Her mouth opened but no sound made its escape, no words, no explanation. Nothing. Silence. How could she tell him? How could she tell that she had tasted his devotion when her teeth sank into him? How could she tell him that she returned it with equal measure without compromising herself?
How, indeed.
“Agatha.” He was waiting for a response, for her to blink, to breathe, to show any stupid little habits that she had so infuriatingly made sure to cling to. But their eyes finally met and she could see her own trepidation caught in his gaze. “You can’t answer me, can you?”
She swallowed then and took a breath. One challenge after the other. Is that all they were to each other? It reminded her of a musical she had heard of in passing.
Anything you can do...I can do better.
“Sentimental value, I suppose,” she tested her voice.
“And what, exactly, would that sentiment be, Doctor Van Helsing?” His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to her. They were fully clothed and yet she felt bare under his gaze. Stripped to nothing but her consciousness that resided where even she could not see.
She could not say it.
She must not.
“Because of this ring I was able to start my unconventional life.” She chose her words carefully. “I owe you a great de--”
A curt sigh cut her off as he shook his head, stalking closer to her. Too close for her comfort. The scent of the sea reminded her that he had been awake for no longer than an hour, two at most.
“No. Tell me plainly. Spare me the runaround, as you say.” A beat of silence before he persisted. “Agatha…”
Despite her better judgment, she glanced up to read his expression and felt that familiar hum in her blood, the same tender note that had rang in him that night. There was no demanding glare, no snarl, nothing etched into his face that would give her reason to reject him. His features were unreadable, save those infinitely dark eyes. In them, her resolve broke.
“You are a part of me, Count Dracula, for as long as I shall live.”
Fandom: Dracula (2020)
Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing
Relationship: Dracula/Agatha
Rating: Teen & Up
Warnings: None
Word Count: 3017
Summary:
Something between hellfire and tantalizing warmth.
Perhaps he was her punishment.
Dracula and Agatha return to her home.
[READ ON AO3]
{pt2} {pt3} {pt4}
or read below;;;;
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Hot and frantic was his mouth at her neck. Dracula was high on her blood the moment he sank into her neck, using his opiate to calm her. It still tasted human but very distinctively hers. His august Countess. She was his every thought, his every wish. His wife.
“You’ll have a mind to keep your thoughts and mouth to yourself, Count Dracula,” she snapped hotly at him, her words a snarl as she pushed his chest and shoved him away. Abhorrence had seized her the moment she had looked at the body and only increased when he tossed the corpse over the cliff.
“Agatha, I’m only trying to help. You were going into shock, which can be very dangerous for a vampire, especially a hungry one,” he dictated, voice calm and quiet as his thumb traced over the open wound, sealing it shut. The cold light of her kitchen reminded her of the hospital.
She stared up at him, the hellfire in her eyes undeniable, only accentuated by the blood dried to her face. He had brought her back to her house, their house. There was silence between them the whole way. Agatha had been unsure of what to say or do, her inner dialogue was a jumbled mess of her thoughts, the girl’s, and his. So, so, so very loud as she struggled to keep her head above the proverbial water.
He stood before her, unmoving, unblinking, as she glared at him. A man of his word, he had used his opiate to quiet her mind, leaving only her thoughts. However, she was unsure if that was better or worse. Once his thoughts, calming and reassuring though they were, left her mind and took the human’s, her own rang clearly.
This is who I am. No, it isn’t. I am not a mindless beast, but I feel alive.
She knew he could hear her. He heard her repetitive shame over and over as it echoed in her skull. In his own way, carnal as it was, Dracula had been honest. He was only trying to help and she was thwarting him at every turn as though his actions were done out of malice.
“You lured me outside,” she started slowly, peeling the ruined clothes from her body. She could clean herself up downstairs, at least get a start, but she needed a shower. “You wanted me to feed.”
“Of course I did.” He followed her as she climbed the stairs. “You’re a vampire and your blood bags aren’t enough. You’re eating scraps and calling them meals. Tell me something…”
She turned on the water, annoyed by his pestering, but she welcomed the distraction. Fighting with him was something Agatha was quite an expert at.
“Are you hungry even now?”
The former nun shifted to face him and caught him pushing his slacks from his body. Once naked, he walked towards her, closing the gap between them. He held her chin in place with his index and thumb, making her look to him, meet his eye.
Knowing that she couldn’t look away, Agatha grabbed his wrist and walked backwards into the shower, leading him with her. If she could distract him from the question, she would. Self control had been tossed to the wayside thanks to his hunger and she had let him best her for the last time.
The water burned her flesh wherever it touched, steam rolling out into the washroom as crimson dripped into the drain below. Dracula ran his hands through her hair as she faced him, her back to the water, and his eyes softened just a touch. He had no intentions of not getting his answer, that much was clear, but he was willing to amuse her for the time being. Always the showman.
She washed without paying him more mind than she had to, her racing mind stilling against the coursing water. The sickening smell of lifeless blood ebbed from her senses, but her guilt did not.
Was she guilty of taking a life? Yes.
Did she feel guilty for taking that life?
“Do you?”
His voice behind her had been almost unexpected if the questions hadn’t been so pressing. The echo of her thought made her turn around once again, seeing him there, naked, looking at her expectantly.
“Or didn’t you think of that? Have you placed your guilt yet? Does it lie with the taking of poor, sweet Anna’s life? Or does it burrow itself in the fact that you don’t feel guilty at all?” He was probing her, trying to get a response, and doing anything to get it.
“Be sure to clean up after washing. I don’t want the blood of an innocent in my home.” Agatha ignored his interrogation as she stepped out of the shower, leaving him to his own devices.
She wrapped the towel around her frame and caught sight of her complexion in the mirror. What was once pallid now was drowned in color, in life. Her feet carried her to the steamed mirror and she wiped away enough to further inspect her features.
There was life in her cheeks, more than there had been for years, her eyes no longer holding the exhaustion that had plagued her. She leaned in closer, paying no mind to Dracula still in the shower behind her, and brought an experimental finger to her upper lip. With her hunger somewhat subsided, Agatha could see her human teeth and she touched them to make sure they would remain that way.
No change.
Her face was her own, her will her own, her actions…
Dracula was right: Agatha felt no guilt for taking the girl’s life. Only an empty imitation of it.
She turned from the mirror, left the bathroom, walked into her bedroom, and closed the door behind her. There was an unfamiliar understanding welling within her as she searched her dressers for something to wear. A nightdress would do, and she grabbed it, slipping it over her form. Agatha stood for a moment, took a breath, and went into her study. Still, she paid the Count no mind, even as she heard him padding around in the bathroom, into the hall after her.
“Agatha.”
It almost, almost, sounded like he was begging. He’s not used to being ignored, especially not by her. She indulged him, indulged in him, and she knew he would not leave well enough alone until he got a reaction from her. The door she closed fruitlessly behind her swung open as she took a seat at her desk.
“Don’t ignore me,” he snorted as he strode into the room. The door slammed shut behind him, but Agatha had been accustomed to his behaviors, even after fifty years apart. Not twenty-four hours earlier, they had been in the throes of a passion she had never known, yet it felt like a memory.
“I am not ignoring you,” she returned, her words apathetic, despite the conflict of emotions within her. She rose from her chair and turned around to look at him. Towel wrapped around his waist, wet hair slicked back, dark eyes growing darker. Had she not wanted to stake him where he stood, she might have wanted to fuck him.
“Then why did you get out of the shower?” A step forward.
“Because you, Count Dracula, need to learn when to bite your tongue,” Agatha shot back, unmoving as he stalked closer. She definitely would have wanted to sleep with him.
He carried antagonism with every agitating step nearer to her, his features twitching impatiently as he stopped in front of her. There was enough space for her to breathe and shove him away if she wished. Agatha’s fingers wrapped around the back of her chair, careful not to dig her nails into the fabric.
“Have I asked anything that you can’t answer? These last fifty years haven’t made you soft, Agatha. You’re decidedly holding out on me. Why?” Dracula held her gaze as he spoke only for her, voice low despite being the only ones in the house.
She could feel something akin to rage begin to burn within her, scorching her belly as it rolled up her throat. Yet, she did not lash out. Years of self-control, long before her undeath, had proven useful around him at all times. Self-restraint, though she could not say much for bloodlust, was something Agatha drowned in, and he knew it.
“Because you already have your answer. You want to hear it for your own satisfaction and I am not going to indulge you,” she protested as she straightened her posture, sizing him despite being half a foot shorter.
“Of course I want to hear you say it, but you’ve got the why wrong,” he smiled emptily down at her. “You need to hear yourself say that you enjoyed feeding from a human, that you feasted from the heart.”
Agatha tensed.
“You know I’m right.”
She paused, an idea creeping into her mind as he stood before her. Another chance for another experiment. Fears were bargaining chips to them, a game that they could indulge in until time itself stopped. An ultimatum perhaps.
“Under one condition,” she postulated, returning his empty smile with a full one of her own. “Come morning, you enter the sunlight.”
Dracula’s lip curled as he took a step back, clearly repulsed by the idea. Then a moment, just a moment, of contemplation turned behind his eyes.
“A hand,” he stated flatly, not wanting to negotiate with her. She always drove a hard bargain, but he would always take the bait. Anything to take the game one level further.
“Your arm.” She wanted to see how far Dracula would be willing to go. There was no possibility of the sun causing him any true damage, as indestructible as vampires seemed to be. Out of all the ones she had studied throughout the course of her life, he was the most resilient, the cleverest of them. That did not mean, however, that he was without faults. One of them being her.
“What if your theory is wrong? What if I do burn in the sunlight?” He was challenging her with equal force, a dance the two of them had started over the month aboard the Demeter , refined now.
“You didn’t burst into ash in the reflection of Harker’s cross,” she pointed out and took a step nearer to him, her anger dissipating as delight for the game returned to her. “If memory serves, you thrashed on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum.”
A low growl rumbled in his throat, clearly unamused by her statement. The smirk that spread across her lips was almost devilish and she did nothing to dissuade it. Yes, the circumstances were grim and yes, she was responsible for a murder on this night. But Dracula always drew something from her that she could never place.
Something between hellfire and tantalizing warmth.
Perhaps he was her punishment.
“Do we have a deal?” she pressed as she ignored the way his tongue peeked between his lips as he licked them.
“Yes, we have a deal,” he uttered and stepped closer, his hands coming to her waist. There was no smile upon his face, no amusement. “Now, I’ll collect what I’m owed.”
Agatha stilled in his hold, motionless as she searched for the words. Simplicity had an allure that verbosity could not possess. He wanted what was wrongfully his, even if it was gained through rightful means.
“I have taken a life, Count Dracula,” she began as he brought his face closer to her. It was almost as though he wanted to steal the words from her mouth, taste them instead of hear them. “It is not my first and will not be my last.”
“And?”
She swallowed and closed her eyes, seeing the woman’s mutilated corpse in the darkness, the look of terror affixed in her dead eyes. The last emotion of a life hopefully did not follow the dead in whatever came next. Agatha opened her eyes but did not make any other attempt to move, lest her composition shatter. Strong and immortal though she might have been, the former nun was not without emotion.
“And I enjoyed it.”
His grip tightened around her waist as he drew her closer. Despite his lips on hers and she kissing him back, clarity was hers. At last an admission of truth she had never wanted to know. She enjoyed draining that poor girl, she reveled in the taste of fresh blood, and she wanted to do it again.
“Of course you did,” he whispered before drawing his head back, breaking from the kiss. “You’re a vampire.”
“I know that.” Her voice was low as she looked down and noticed how the white sheet around his waist was lifted slightly. A beast under any circumstances, even in one such as this. Especially one such as this, her brain corrected. “I have been for half a century.”
“But you don’t know how to be one, do you?” Dracula’s grip dropped from her waist and he took a step back, as though to observe her in her entirety. “I can teach you.”
“If I wanted to be a glutton, I could do it easily. Self-restraint is n--”
“A waste of time, my dear. And will always cause more destruction in the end. You know that, Agatha. I’d hate to see you lose yourself to hunger because you refuse your nature.” He paused for a moment, ruminating on a lost memory. “I’ve seen it happen before.”
“To one of your brides?” Her inquiry wasn’t meant to be tender and it didn’t sound as such. He still led her to feed, he still kept her mind unoccupied until they were near the scene, he still threw temptation in her face. He was still the catalyst to her crime.
“No,” he returned, not saying anything further on the subject.
Instead, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her to her own devices once more. Agatha shut the door after he did not immediately come back and returned to her desk. What he was doing, she did not know, nor did she care to. If anything, he had a free pass to cause as much destruction as he wanted tonight. It would be hypocritical of her to say otherwise, to stop him, even if every part of her screamed to go after him.
She needed to document the events of the day, every grizzly detail of the death, every emotion and every second. Fifty years later and she still held her research dear to her, but it turned out that she was not her favorite test subject. Emotions were tricky to articulate when they were her own, the truth hard to solidify on paper when it came to the more animal side of her. Agatha reached for her leatherbound notebook and a pen, turned to the next blank page, and began to write.
-----
He could see her clearly in his mind as he dressed. His divine Countess in all of her glory. The sight of her covered in blood, giving in, surrendering to what she so desperately needed... How beautiful she had been and how readily he had been to grant reverence. Yet, she had thwarted him, stonewalled him, as she fell back from the body. He knew she ate from blood bags, donations, as she called them, and he tasted it on her. Just as he knew her misplaced guilt when she fed. She wasn’t guilty at all.
She was ashamed.
A state he apparently knew well, though he swallowed that conversation for when he wasn’t half-starved. Fifty years of restraint was nothing for him, not when he had lived for nearly five centuries. Not to mention, he had fed, gorged himself, on his hand-picked dinners the whole way to England. He hadn’t brought Agatha along to feed on, though he did indulge in her after each meal to rid himself of each passenger’s inferior aftertaste. No, in earnest, he had not been interested in simply killing her.
Such a woman deserved eternity absolute. In all of his years no human had been so damnably obstinate, and he could not bring himself to part from her. A superior vintage in every aspect from intelligence to indulgences, she offered him more than entertainment; she offered him equal opposition.
She had fought him from the moment she awoke aboard the ship. He knew then that her words to Harker had been only that. In the face of sin incarnate, his impertinent nun had been braver than David when fighting Goliath. Her persistence came not from a place of misplaced confidence, but of personal conviction.
And it was apparent to him that she still possessed many of her morals, even in her afterlife. She had been freed of mortal ties, yet still lived as a mortal. Had he not known the very fabric of her being, he would say that it was a waste of time. Her inability to rid herself of that which made her human made her blood all the sweeter to him.
He returned the towel to the washroom, decidedly not looking in the mirror as he exited the room, and glanced down the hall in the direction of her personal study. Many of the books lining the walls had belonged to his personal library and he knew she had read them over and over to gain insight on his existence. Always going over every detail with a fine-toothed comb, the part of her he did not get to see during their time together.
Dracula took a step closer, head tilted to better hear the pace of her pen against paper, and wondered if she would be willing to indulge him in what she was writing. Certainly not at present as her distress was nearly palpable, would have been if he were to taste her blood again. Perhaps he could at least try to calm her.
He finished crossing the hall and wrapped his hand on the knob of the door.
Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing, Original Character(s)
Relationship: Dracula/Agatha
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence
Word Count: 7,005
Summary: ‘Because you need to feed,’ she told herself too often. Nearly fifty years as a vampire and she still craved blood at every and any given moment. Vampires were like that. Vampires were like a lot of things.
A lie she told herself over and over. A vampire cannot betray its nature, not entirely, and she was testimony to that. No creature could overcome baser instincts, not when survival was at stake.
The war had run her ragged, to the point of weeks without rest or proper feeding. She’d steal away for a moment, trying to find blood that wasn’t tainted by the smell of death. The human had to be alive. The dying were always her safest bet, those beyond chance of recovery, those left behind on the battlefield gasping for breath, the life leaving their eyes.
Agatha discovered rather quickly that feeding from the dying had more negative side effects than it was worth, but she persisted. Her skin paled, her hair thinned, her hunger grew near intolerable. Times like those, she wished she had Dracula in her head, just so she could argue against what would be his very obvious answer of feed.
She had tried and failed for forty-five long years, and she hardly wanted him awake to know of the chaos that currently ravaged the world. He would have a field day, taking whomever he so pleased. Scientists working to the bone to produce stronger, faster, more effective weapons of mass destruction. Generals and strategists, black operations agents, spies, warriors on both sides, hungry for bloodshed, for justice, for stability.
Occasionally, she had argued with him, imagining him in her mind as she wandered the camps at night. He’d tell her to just give in, just a taste, just feed on one truly living soul and be done with it. Any vampire with a brain still in their skull would. It was natural for her to be starved, to want every ounce and then imbibe in even more. She was a vampire, after all, and vampires were not as complicated as she had conjectured.
“Something to eat, a bit of company.”
-------------------------------------------------
She had been on the earth for eighty-seven years, over half of which had been spent in a state of undead, dracul, nosferatu; A vampire.
And the death around her, seeping into her bones, reminded her constantly. Every day another bone to set, another amputation, another transfusion. Blood was around her constantly, stale and fresh, and she felt her patience dwindle by the second. She would bark at nurses, throw instrument trays, snap saws in half with her hands. All to keep her fangs from showing, her eyes from flooding crimson; anything to abate the beast she so vehemently claimed not to be.
Agatha drew in a breath as the morning sun crept into the tent, bathing her pallid face in its iridescence. She hadn’t fed in over two weeks. Too many deaths too quickly. Too much work to do, not enough sleep in the world, and not a second to herself.
She turned to the clock that ticked away at the wall. Six-thirty, a whole two hours of sleep and she was awake again, ready to take on yet another blood-soaked day. Agatha sat up, stretched, and grabbed at her head, thumbs massaging at her temples. Had she not gone through this several times in the past, she would have never guessed vampires could even have headaches.
‘Because you need to feed,’ she told herself too often. Nearly fifty years as a vampire and she still craved blood at every and any given moment. Vampires were like that. Vampires were like a lot of things.
An unfamiliar face walked into the doctor’s resting tent, an accented ‘knock, knock’ sounding before a man presented himself.
Agatha turned her head to take the man before her in. He was little taller than she was, though that hadn’t said much as she was a particularly tall woman. He was young, his olive uniform without stains, life in his eyes, brunette hair cut neatly under his beret. A french soldier, clearly.
“Pardon, madame. I thought this was the tent of the off-duty doctors. I’m afraid I may be a little lost.” The young man’s hurried speech gave Agatha’s headache no relief, and her thin patience no quarter. The assumption, however, she was used to. No man wanted to submit his life to the hands of a woman when healthy. They didn’t care whose hands brought them back to life, pleading for the pain to stop, begging for morphine, for death.
She shook the thought from her head and dropped her hands into her lap. “No, you’re in the right place. I’m Dr. Van Helsing, you may call me Agatha. What can I do for you?”
“I heard there was a lady-doctor!” He straightened his posture. “I am Corporal-Major Mathieu de la Fontaine. Please, forgive my presumptuous behavior?”
At least he had manners.
“I was to report for a physical, madame. My platoon just arrived, my lieutenant directed me to your tent,” explained the Corporal-Major as Agatha stood. She made sure not to step too closely to him so soon after waking. The sound of a relaxed pulse in such a high-stress environment would sing too sweetly to her. “If you wish, I can wait until another doctor comes by, perhaps?”
She looked him over and shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Why did he send you to the off-duty tent?”
Mathieu frowned, his discomfort plain on his face. “The active tents are..”
“Being used for more pressing matters. I see,” Agatha finished for him and the pitcher of water on the desk. “Might I offer you something to drink while I fetch the forms? We don’t keep them in here.”
“Oui, j’ai soif. But I have the necessary papers here,” he said as he reached into the pocket of his vest. She grabbed the papers offered to her and immediately started reading over them. “Name, date of birth, all of the information you could need down to my blood type.”
“O-positive,” she muttered to herself. Good. He could possibly be of great use, maybe even save lives. “Do you know how valuable your blood is, Monsieur de la Fontaine?”
“I heard that vampires prefer O-negative,” he joked with a laugh, his teeth still white and all in place. If only he understood how funny the situation truly was. “I apologize, I shouldn’t make such jokes during war.”
“One should always cling to humor, even in dark times such as these. It makes managing stress a little easier.” Agatha smiled at him and directed him to take a seat on the cot opposing her own. She could hear his pulse as he walked by her. Slow, unperturbed, untainted. “Besides, I think vampires would be more likely to choose victims based on who they are and not what type of blood they have.”
She poured him a glass of water, handed it to him, and continued reading over admission charts. He had earned his rank quite rapidly early in the war, but clearly had time to rest between then and now. How that was possible with the Nazis having nearly seized all of France was beyond her, but she would not question it.
He was twenty-seven, approximately 180 centimeters, 80 kilograms, no visual or hearing impairments. No history of breathing trouble, was vaccinated for Polio…
The more Agatha read, the more she wondered why he had even been in need of a physical. Or why he was even in a war at all. He had a law degree from the University of Bordeaux.
“Alright, Corporal Major,” she began as she strode to a small filing cabinet filled with extra supplies. “I’m going to have to ask you to strip.”
His physical went without a hitch, though Agatha could hear his pulse like it was beating in her own ears. He carried an interesting scent, most of the French did. History was important to them, culture, and all of those sweet indulgences she had refrained from in life.
“Van Helsing,” he started as he fixed his beret in place. “That is not an English name.”
“No, it isn’t. My family is Dutch. I guess you can say I’ve lived in England most of my life.” Most of her afterlife, at least.
“How fortunate for us that you are here. My life could be in no better hands, I’m sure of it. I’ve never seen anyone with such a steady posture,” he returned with another smile before leaving the tent, completed forms in-hand.
Agatha realized then that she had been holding her breath during the examination, careful not to take in too much of the young man. She did not need to know his plans, where he was going to be, when he’d be alone.
Her day passed with agonizing slowness, each action seeming tedious as she cleaned infections and set up infusions. Infusions. She had to make a note of de la Fontaine, to suggest him to another possible donor, but did not want to imply she wished to do the task.
By the end of her shift, she was covered in a slew of liquids ranging from blood to she wasn’t quite sure, but it smelled worse than death. And a vampire knew the stench of death better than most. The sun was setting in the sky and she knew what awaited her. She had a full night to herself, a full night of rest, a full night of hunger.
“Dr. Van Helsing!”
A newly familiar voice caught her attention as she went to hit the nearest body of water. She needed to feel clean, if only for a moment.
“Corporal-Major. How are you settling in?” She did not want to see him right now, but was polite all the same.
“Very well, all things considered. I saw you working earlier and thought maybe you could use a drink?”
If he only knew.
Agatha shook her head and watched his smile drop a little. How hopeful and full of life the young were. She would be lying if she said that she didn’t wish he would hold to it. “I’m afraid I’m in desperate need of some form of cleaning.”
“The baths are usually occupied with the men,” Mathieu returned with a frown, his smile gone.
“And most don’t mind when a woman walks in, I assure you,” she noted, her words sardonic. Even a four-hundred year old vampire had more control of his tongue than they did. “I have somewhere private I like to go.”
“Perhaps after?” He was a persistent thing and Agatha turned the idea over in her head.
While she did not drink alcohol, or at least hadn’t tried to, since receiving Communion nearly half a century ago, perhaps there was no harm in the company of a few happy faces. After all, humans were social creatures and his life would most likely be snuffed out on the battlefield. Agatha had been a friend of death at this point and knew she would be able to handle it should he grow on her.
“Perhaps,” she echoed.
He gave her the information of where he would be and who he would be with if all went according to plan. She nodded, made sure she stressed that there was a possibility of her absence, and continued her trek away from camp.
There was a waist-deep creek a couple hundred yards from camp, hidden amongst trees too thick to fight through. It was her private place to bathe, to think, to escape the gurgles of the dying. When she came to it, she stripped bare and sank into the cool water, mindful to not step on any possible life underfoot.
Agatha closed her eyes and let her chest still as she submerged herself in the water, her body sinking to the bottom. Of all the benefits being a vampire had, being able to lie at the bottom of that particular creek was squarely number one on her list at that moment.
She was still for nearly half an hour, her mind playing memories like films in a theatre. Some were her own, others were his, and all of them eased her tense muscles, an unfortunate side effect of not feeding. She could find an animal, surely, but they provided little energy. There were many ways Agatha could feed. The dying, the sick, those too weak to carry on. She could steal donations.
She wouldn’t. The dying still had living blood, but they were exhausted, often emotional and frantic. The ones resigned to death already tasted as such and she would be sick for days after feeding on the ill.
She considered drinking from the Germans, but she would sooner be staked than dine on a Nazi. To hear those thoughts in her head...No, bullets would suffice. Mortars would suffice. She would sooner let the streets run with their blood than dare to feed from one.
The answer was plain, but she refused. She was more than a beast. She knew herself and understood the rules by which she lived. Agatha had taken an oath as a doctor to help any life in need. She could not feed on the living, she mustn’t, and her fists clenched as she rose from the water.
Agatha breathed in and opened her eyes to see the sun had at last gone to rest. Dark enough to wash, dark enough to relax, dark enough to sneak back to base without anyone noticing; her clean uniform a blessing for which she’d never be grateful enough.
She caught sight of new faces as she entered the camp. All varying ages, some clearly lying to make themselves older, others very obviously lying about medical conditions, not that the lieutenant-colonel cared. He had lives to waste ever since the Americans joined a few months prior. Those were the truly fresh faces, the ones ready and eager for blood, for glory.
Their enthusiasm wouldn’t survive the week, but hopefully they would.
She spotted the Corporal-Major among some other new individuals and cursed herself when he met her eye and waved her over. Agatha knew she had belabored her answer, but apparently that had meant little to the young man as he reached down and pulled two bottles of wine from a sac.
“I know we’re not supposed to have them, but I couldn’t resist. English wine doesn’t...settle right.” A laugh, the other men joining in. They were French, too. Mathieu looked to Agatha. “Lady’s choice. Red or white?”
“I enjoy both,” she said reflexively, damning herself. They weren’t her words. “Enjoyed, I should say. I don’t drink.”
“Mon amie! That won’t do. Middle of a war and you don’t drink? How ever do you settle your nerves?” His response earned him an impartial smile. “You’ll return to your husband a hysterical mess.”
Her husband?
She glanced at her ring and felt something ache inside of her, overriding her hunger for a moment. The weight pressed upon her chest and burrowed into the pit of her throat. He was definitely no husband. She wouldn’t even begin to entertain such an idea. It was entirely laughable.
“Ah, Dr. Van Helsing, je désolé,” de la Fontaine’s voice broke through her thoughts and she blinked at him, confused. “You must miss him very much.”
She did.
“He’s probably sleeping. It seemed to be his favorite pastime before I left.” She brushed the subject off, burying the memory of him as best she could before smiling at Mathieu. “Red.”
“I knew you were a woman of taste. Now that we’ve made the important decisions, I would like to introduce you to some members of my platoon.”
She learned the names of each man, all coming from different backgrounds but all ready to get back into the action. They were confident, placing much on faith, and as the cork popped out of the bottle, they cheered.
Mathieu handed her the bottle first, a grin on his face.
It struck her then, that in the months she had been there, no one once invited her to do such a thing. Naturally, she had patients in for consultations, follow-ups before they were flown out of the zone. Occasionally, a man would wander into her tent and she would be forced to break a finger or two, secretly delighting at the snap of their quick but effective punishment.
They’d say nothing, of course, lest they compromise themselves in the process.
She reached for the bottle and breathed the scent of the wine in. The spirit smelled nearly unrecognizable to her, bitter, too harsh. An idea struck her then. This was nothing more than another test.
Can vampires drink alcohol or consume anything that was not blood?
She brought the bottle to her lips and took a slow sip, letting it soak her tongue before swallowing.
Her stomach churned almost immediately and she swore she could hear his voice calling her foolish. She handed the bottle back, her hand coming to her mouth, before she hurriedly shuffled away. Agatha bent over, grabbing at the nearest object to support herself as her body purged itself of the wine. She looked to her right, to see that it was Mathieu holding her steady and immediately felt embarrassed, searching for an excuse.
“Are you alright? I know the English don’t have taste, but it couldn’t have been that bad.” He was a poor liar and even worse at hiding his emotions. His concern might as well have had flashing neon lights pointing to it. Agatha heard his quickening pulse drumming wildly. The rapid tempo of the deep pumps of his heart.
“I’ll be fine. I haven’t eaten since yesterday? The day before? I should have known better than to try alcohol as my first meal,” she explained, not entirely lying. She couldn’t remember the last time she fed. She wiped her mouth as she fixed her posture. “I think it would be wise if I retired for the night.”
Mathieu nodded, let her go, but did not move away from her. “Let me assist you back to your tent. I will not see a sick woman go unattended.”
“I appreciate the concern, but I am a war physician and have been through much worse than a stomach ache. I will be fine. Please, return to your men and give them my warm wishes.” Agatha would not be alone with someone so healthy now that her stomach demanded proper feeding, snarling furiously at her.
He gave a moment’s pause, frowning at her, but acquiesced to her wishes. She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked back to her section of camp.
The sounds of the camp layered in her mind as she tried to find sleep, turning restlessly upon her cot. Everything within her pushed her out of bed and she sat up, her stare empty as she tried to cling to rationality. Logic could not play here, logic would tell her to feed. Rationality considered the great possibility of consequence.
Her nails extended and hardened faster than she had ever felt them. She grit her teeth as she felt them scrape against the metal, screeching unpleasantly. If she let go, and she knew she mustn’t, Agatha would find herself unable to save herself. She needed a minute.
Just a minute.
One… Minute…
Her eyes slipped shut as she drew in a breath and searched for a familiar face. He was the last person she needed to see, the one who would tempt her forward, let go, release the beast. But he was there, nonetheless, staring at her from the sea, the water to his chest in the grey light of morning.
One…
Her time in Transylvania. Crimson turned black in the moonlight as it poured in from the small window. The pillows stained as a gurgle sounds in a throat, a cry from another.
Min…
Jonathan Harker before her, telling her the story of Count Dracula as his fiancee sat to her left. She had been such a frightened girl and with great cause. Her basement, her study, her refuge.
His memory.
How wonderful she had tasted on his lips. He had torn through a convent, armed and ready with wolves, but for all the entertainment… She was the unexpected main course. And she could feel his teeth sinking into her neck as if they were her own.
...minu…
His blood on her tongue as she suckled at his wrist.
Breathe.
Agatha shot up, her jaw unclenching as her eyes opened, and looked out into the night. She had been trying to sleep for nearly five hours, but could not stand to be around others any longer. The glorious stench of blood was too close to her and she would not let herself lose control.
An animal.
She would find something small, something to curb her appetite enough to sleep. The watch was doubled at night and she would have to be careful. Nothing she hadn’t done before, nothing she wouldn’t have to do a thousand times more before this damned war was over, it seemed.
Agatha found her escape and took it, slipping into the forest and wasted not a second getting as deep as she could. Gunfire sounded in the background, most animals would be hiding, then. She would have to locate them by sound.
She heard a heartbeat, too close, too strong, too human.
Too soon.
“Mon amie?”
Dammit.
“Mathieu, what are you doing out here?” she asked without turning around to look at him. If she looked, he would see, he would know, and she would have to either kill him or drug him. “You should be back at base.”
She heard his weight shift, a sigh leaving his lips as his heart rate settled. So strong, so lively beneath his skin, she could still hear the pump, pump, pumping away in his chest. She raked her claw against the inside of her palm to keep time with it.
“I could say the same for you,” he replied, voice neither defending nor accusing. “But I could not sleep and decided to inspect our surroundings, see if there were any vantage points for Hitler’s puppets to have.”
He took a step forward, misplaced his footing, tripped, stumbled, caught himself on a tree.
Agatha instinctively turned to help but was drawn to his hand. Bark and dirt may have gotten in the way, but the aroma was undeniable.
She clenched her fists, damning every aspect of her existence, cursing Dracula to stay in his box and rot. They settled on it not having been entirely his fault, but it was easier to blame him when he refused to listen to her, refused to answer her.
“Nothing to fret over, ju--”
Agatha was inches away from him, his hand in hers as she inspected the wound. It was nothing more than a scrape but the potency of his blood was irresistible.
“Dr. Van Helsing?” he called, his pulse increasing. She refused to look up, refused to look at him as she stared down at the red in the night. “Your teeth…”
“Yes, they do that.” She was caught. “I’m a vampire.”
She turned to him, sparing him nothing as she released his wrist. Her teeth jagged, eyes red, and claws sharp to points…
“They aren’t real,” Mathieu protested, refusing to believe what was in front of him. Another Adisa. “Dracula is a fictional character, a silly creature from a picture made to scare people.”
She brought a finger to his lips, silencing him. “I have lain with the Devil and know him plain. And he is far more terrifying than any film will ever be able to portray.”
He stared blankly at her, unsure of how or where to move. She could smell his indecision in the air and took advantage of it. Agatha threw him to the ground and listened to the way his ribs cracked beneath her force. She grabbed his face in her hand and tilted his neck, holding it to expose as much flesh as possible, her fingers tightening. His jaw snapped under the pressure, the pain causing him to cry out. The sweet note echoing in her ears as she stared at the artery pounding furiously at his throat.
He tried to say something, tried to protest, but she gnashed her teeth into his skin, sinking deep into his artery and drank. She could hear the snap of his neck, as she pushed harder against his smashed jaw. His life flooded into her, his memories, his dreams…
Agatha gasped as her eyes opened. The light of the day was fading as she lay tangled up on the couch in her study. Dracula’s naked body curled tighter against her and drew her closer, placing a kiss at her temple. She pressed into him, secretly delighting in the comfort of his hold.
The study was the darkest room in the house, save the cellar, and he refused to sleep in the box of dirt that she, in fact, brought from Transylvania. Her bedroom had too thin of curtains for him to be comfortable laying in while she slept.
“Everything alright?” he asked quietly after some time of holding her, his breath creeping over her skin as he spoke.
“I’m fine, just hungry,” she replied and shrugged out of his grip, immediately missing the warmth and pressure of him against her.
“Nightmare, I take it?” He sat up after her, following her with his eyes as she stood and took a few steps forward.
“You weren’t listening?” She turned to face him, genuinely surprised.
“Not this time,” he hummed cheekily, his eyes moving hungrily over her form. “You looked exhausted this morning after our shower. I figured you could use some time to recuperate. I did it for fifty years, I won’t fault you a few hours.”
“So you just what? Stayed on the couch all day?”
His brows knit together defensively at her question as though trying to think of a smart remark. But his face relaxed as he leaned back against the cushions, sighing in defeat.
Her dream nearly made her forget that she had finally fished him out of the sea. Seeing him stretching against her couch, faking a yawn, gave her all the reassurance she needed. When he stood and pecked her lips, she was doubly reassured.
“What else was I supposed to do? You are the worst vampire in the history of vampires, one dark room, while the rest of the place is swimming in sunlight,” he shivered, repulsed by the very notion of stepping into the sun. She would break him of it in time.
Her stomach twisted in a knot and she gave an annoyed breath. Ever since she fed from him the night prior, Agatha hadn’t been able to rid herself of her hunger. Not during their short break, where he begrudgingly accepted the glass she poured him, not before she went to sleep, not now.
Her reserves were well-stocked once she knew for certain that she was waking him, she would manage.
“You could have gotten up, I would have gone back to sleep. There are plenty of books in here to read and I doubt you would have been bored,” she returned, her voice unintentionally sharp. With a breath, she relaxed. “Come, I’m sure you’re hungry and you need to put clothes on. Neighbors are as nosy as old nuns and I don’t need them asking why there’s a naked man in my home.”
“Get thicker drapes.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and she went tense under him, her stomach flipping angrily again. “I don’t claim to be an expert, but I’m certain you’re supposed to be relaxed after sex, joyful even. Why don’t you tell me about your nightmare?”
“No,” she shot back as she opened the door, ensuring that the sun was down before stepping into the hallway. She took the short walk through the hall and stopped at her bedroom door, knowing full well that it was not going to be an easy sight to see.
However, Agatha had not anticipated the magnitude of the destruction they caused. It looked like a crime scene.
The sheets were torn, jumbled mess on the floor along with her pillows, both stained with blood. The wood of her headboard had an impressive chunk splintered from it and the mattress was just slightly askew on the frame. She blinked as she stepped inside, immediately gathering the sheets and comforter in her hands. There was no saving them, and she’d need at least a new headboard. Maybe metal.
Had they really been that rough?
Yes.
Had she enjoyed herself as much as the heat dripping down to her core at the memory?
More.
The sheets were discarded, they were dressed, and the room was cleaned. Dracula mainly talked about nothing important, trying to lure her back into the bed. As enticing as the idea was her hunger gnawed at her interminably, closing off her mind to anything else.
“You really don’t feed from the vein?” he asked as he stood in her kitchen once again, Agatha grabbing the decanter from the liquor cabinet. “Agatha, you know you’re starving yourself.”
“It suffices,” she replied, voice even. The thought of feeding from a living human appealed to her less when he provoked her. “Not everyone is as gluttonous as you.”
“Gluttony or not, you’re still feeling my hunger. You and I both know that you won’t be satisfied until you’ve drunk your fill from the nearest vagrant,” he postulated, his hand covering hers around the thick glass container, the blood within swayed. She released the neck of the decanter, letting him take it and grabbed two glasses from the same cabinet. Two, beautiful, crystal, custom designs etched into them.
He caught them in his peripheral and felt like marble, a breath. He approved. “But you… you, don’t feed from vagrants, do you? Agatha, have I rubbed off on you?”
She set the glasses in front of him with little patience, ignoring his poor attempts at getting her to admit to something he already knew. Agatha was a woman of logic, she always had been, but the way he stared at her, a wolf, had her clenching her teeth. Her hunger grew. The tempter, the snake in the garden.
“No, I don’t. I feed from specifically selected people based on health. Donations.”
“Donations,” he echoed, disappointed as he poured them each a glass. “It’s unlike you to take advantage of people.”
A drop of guilt fell through her and spread through her veins. He spoke the truth, but she had little other choice. Either take the bags or risk taking lives. It was simple but felt wrong, not entirely aligned with the urges gnashing their teeth from within. His urges.
Damn him.
Agatha looked at the fine crystal, the liquid within causing her to salivate, swallowing as her gaze shifted to the much thicker glass of the decanter. While imprudent and nearly uncivilized, the gifts she had made for them--no, just for him, they were no couple--would remain unharmed. She could feel him watching her, studying her, and wondered what she must look like. Her silence deafening as she stood, motionless, her eyes shifting between the glass and the decanter. Self-control or submission.
“Agatha,” he mouthed, letting his breath form her name as it left his lips. Dracula knew what weighed her down, what bore so relentlessly through her, just as he knew the only proper solution.
With a breath, Agatha shifted her weight and took the glass he offered. There was a glint of surprise in his expression when she moved her gaze to him. He was only six inches taller than her, but he towered over her, the constant abyss that lured her in.
“Cheers.” He raised his glass to hers, his eyes darkening as he brought it to his lips.She was too busy drinking to make a snide remark about his inability to control his histrionics.
The liquid streamed down her throat with ease as she finished it quickly. Agatha opened her eyes, having not realized she closed them and saw him still watching her. He hadn’t moved, the rim of the glass resting comfortably at his bottom lip, the blood no closer to his mouth.
“I said before that I was hungry, it is your doing, after all,” she specified as the grips of her hunger made no attempts to loosen. “Go on, I think you’ll find it to your liking.”
He sniffed at the contents of his before taking a sip. A chilling grin spread upon his lips, jagged edges of his teeth visible, as he brought the glass down. His claw tapped lightly at the glass as he ruminated on the flavors; his smile grew before he finished it, gluttonous as always. The veneer chipping away.
As if she was one to talk.
Another glass shared between them both and then another, draining the decanter as Dracula probed her, antagonizing the beast of her hunger. He relented only when the container was empty.
“Alright, Agatha, have it your way. But I still need to feed properly and I’m sure the people are very much alive, war being over and all that. The victorious afterglow of battle is a beautiful thing, fills your chest with so much...life.” His words sent a chill to the center of her spine, splintering off like lightning through her nerves.
“Surely you don’t think I’m going to let you leave to do as you please?” Agatha watched as he turned on the sink, rinsing his glass out and then hers, setting them carefully into the basin below.
“No, I don’t. In fact, I expect you to accompany me,” returned the Count with a smirk. “I know you’ll follow me if I decide to leave on my own. But I’d much rather have you at my side while the night is still young.”
“A moonlit stroll?”
“If nothing else. I’ve been in a box for fifty years, I need to stretch my legs, get a taste for what life is like. I need information and your bags aren’t giving me enough,” he said as he stood close to her and took her hands in his. The Count’s thumb traced over the ring on her finger, his face softening almost imperceptibly.
Against her better judgment, Agatha agreed to his proposal, shoving a flask in her coat before they left, just in case.
They walked for what seemed like eternity, winding up and down streets, through alleys, all in silence. Agatha thought it wise to keep moving, lest she catch an all too enticing scent on the breeze. She thought for a moment, wondered where they could go, and directed them towards the water. The cliffs were a beautiful sight and mostly peaceful. Since the war, it had been a place for the occasional petty crime. Drug deals, vandalization, indecent exposure twice on the same day, by the same man.
He seemed preoccupied, lost in thought. His silence disturbed her and she contemplated listening in but tucked her arm under his instead. If they were going to be out this late at night, she might as well take every precaution to not get stopped by anyone. She could feel the flask burning in her pocket; craved what was inside of it, despite knowing she did not need it.
She wanted it.
His pace slowed when he felt her worm her arm between his side and bicep, hooking into his elbow. No one had done that for centuries, not without prompting, not without his opiate, not without the promise of something more. She would never stop surprising him, even as he could hear the dam of her self-control splinter into ever growing faults.
She needed to feed.
“Have you finally grown tired of hearing your own voice?” she asked when the silence became too heavy.
“Never.” He wore the grin of an alleycat as they walked farther along the cliff. The water below them churned against the rocks, a sound so familiar she was able to tune it out and focus on his words. “I figured you would want to give me a tour to keep me from draining someone dry. But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to drain your stockpile when we get back.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” she admitted and pulled her arm from him. He let out a breath of disapproval and pulled her back to him, hand tight around her waist. “Afraid I’ll wand--”
She could smell it.
Fresh, alive, a numbing song in her head as she struggled for control over the snarling monstrosity within her. How could she have not noticed it earlier? How did she not hear, not know? Dracula had been…
He’d been silent.
“Count Dracula!” She struggled against him as his other hand came around her and held her back to his chest. “Release me at once.”
“Need I remind you that it was you who led me here? My dear, you’ve been sniffing out something to eat this whole time.” His accusation burned like fire at her ears and she shoved her elbow into his chest. “You can’t fight it forever, you know.”
“I most certainly can, now release me so I can assess the situation. I’m a doctor and there is clearly someone in need of assistance. Stay here. I don’t want you killing a possible patient.”
He gave an annoyed growl and let her go, Agatha sparing not a second to hunt down the scent. She felt starved, nearly mad with hunger as her feet delivered her to the scene, blood staining the ground black in the moonlight.
A young woman. Red of hair, short and unconscious on the ground. There was blood pooling from a wound in her abdomen. Agatha knelt beside the girl, no more than twenty-five, and began inspecting her, trying to bring her to consciousness. But her blood sang to the former nun, lilting sweet poetry to the beast within her, mesmerizing, astounding, addictive, alive.
Something in her broke, and her fingers entered the wound. Hot, inviting, untainted. No organs had been harmed, and Agatha curled her fingers, tearing at the flesh of the woman’s abdomen, and brought them to her mouth as she heard an agonized moan from below.
Discordant, pitiful, and a distraction as Agatha lapped every last trace of blood from her fingers. She brought her free hand to hold the girl’s--Anna’s--mouth shut and looked down at the poor thing with blood-tinged eyes. “Please, be still. For both of our sake. I won’t be long.”
‘ Don’t be slop-- ’
She shut him out of her mind as she clamped down on the girl’s carotid. With a snarl, Agatha tore it from her neck and descended upon the human’s neck, drinking deeply, greedily. Her hand dipped into the wound once more, tearing it open, wanting to feel as the body went limp from the inside.
There was a surge of energy in her veins, a gnawing that told her to drink deeper, every drop, every last whisper. And she obeyed, clutching at the open wound, crawling under the skin to be closer to her heart. So shallow, so nearly empty, but the organ persisted. Agatha pressed down, cracking ribs between her fingers as she dug, face parting from the woman’s neck as the blood began to bitter.
Only when she could feel the very nearly still heart, did Agatha’s hand steady. With her mind in a frenzied haze, she gripped the organ and tore it from the corpse. The final shreds of life that drizzled into her throat were magnificent, directly from the source, not the vein. Her fangs sank into a valve, ensuring the last drops were not spared, when she heard him behind her, a low, approving rumble sounding in his chest.
He lowered himself beside her with a hand at her back, careful to fix his attire as he crouched. Agatha released the heart and dropped it to the lifeless body below. Her eyes were nearly black as she panted before him, blood hot on her breath and teeth covered in bits of muscle and shards of bone.
“You may understand the rules of the beast, but not even you can turn your back on its nature,” Dracula finalized as he reached for her face, cupping her bloodsoaked cheek. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you waking like that again.”
She was beyond shame, drenched in the blood of another, as she looked upon him. Stilling in his hold, Agatha was unsure if she should lean into his touch or snap his wrist. Her body made the decision for her as she fell back, away from the corpse, and away from him. She swallowed as her eyes befell the horror of her work.
It reminded her of an infamous killer who had stalked the streets nearly sixty years prior. She had caught wind of the massacres in a letter from her detective friend, asking if it could possibly be the work of a vampire or other supernatural being. It was possible, but the man was never caught and went silent after completing his work.
“Pull yourself together, Agatha. You’ve seen much worse than this,” he started absently as he scooped the body from the ground, tucking the heart in the cavity she created. Dracula peered over the cliff, sizing the distance, and let the corpse plummet into the frothing waters below without sticking around to see if it hit the bottom. “There you go. Back on your feet. Feeling better?”
She stood as he turned around and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. It did little to fix her appearance, but the way Dracula looked at her would convince a blind man otherwise. She shivered at the sight, curling in on herself as she swayed between disgust and satisfaction. He was right. A beast can only deny its nature for so long, but she was more than such a creature.
