miraclewhip | (for cryptsleeper)

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(for cryptsleeper)

[ He remembers- maybe about half of what happened last night. A little more, perhaps. He remembers the comments that initiated the fight. Vaguely remembers being dragged back to the inn. Remembers throwing cold water on his face to wake himself up to do the terrible fucking job of stitching himself back up that he found himself with this morning (if there was ever a chance to keep that fucking cut from scarring, well, he's gone and botched it).

And he remembers telling the fucking vampire things that he probably should not have told the fucking vampire. He doesn't remember the specifics but he knows that he said too much. More than he's told anyone in a decade maybe. All for the sake of a petty victory that he doesn't even remember if he achieved.

He's uncharacteristically quiet today, even for being as hungover as he is. He forces the almost-solid porridge down his throat when it's pushed in front of him. He drinks half the water that he was using to wash himself last night and pours the other half over his head to wake himself up after maybe an hour of sleep. He only interrupts Sypha's long, long 'discussion' when she stares at him for an indication that he's still awake. It's after that that he's dismissed to the back of the wagon, either because Sypha can't stand his presence right now or because she doesn't trust him not to fall off and end up tangled under its wheels.

(Can't blame her, being tangled up under the wheels of a wagon sounds better than being in his own head right now, even without the throbbing pain.)

He doesn't sleep, mostly because he's been told not to and he is, even more uncharacteristically, on his best behavior right now. The day is mostly uneventful until sometime in the afternoon, when a particularly foolish highwayman sees a wagon driven by a single speaker woman and tries to take advantage of the situation. He's driven off within moments, of course, harmlessly to both them and himself, and the worst that happens is that the horses are startled by Sypha's display and the wagon lurches to one side, knocking Trevor onto his side against the wooden floor. It's only after everything has been confirmed okay, once the horses are calm and they're moving again, that he places a hand to his lower chest. ]

Fuck.

[ It's warm. And damp. He's gone and opened his shitty stitches, hasn't he? ]

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We're both here. And we have as long as you need to take.

[ He squeezes Alucard's hand again at that. Carefully. Gently.

Tell me about your hands. ]

[In Trevor's hand, there's a fist for just a moment, and then it relaxes again. Rests there ever so quietly.]

Unharmed, mostly. The cuffs did most of the work of making them weaker to use. A few of those pins were put there experimentally, but it wasn't particularly interesting, I suppose.

[ He nods, and brings Alucard's hand to his lips, kissing as softly as he can over the inside of the wrist before letting go. ]

Your turn.

[If circumstances were just them being...them. Not all this extra horror, Alucard would straight up blush (or his version of it) at the gesture. As it is, he understands the weight and intention behind it, and there is a very tiny flicker of a smile.

The released hand lands on something above Trevor's naval. It was the kind of thing that was probably too deep and involved far, far too much luck to have not died from.

Doctor of a mother. He knew where intestines were.]

I think I called you a lucky drunk once.

Before I was a drunk, actually.

[ He closes his eyes, trying to picture it. ]

I was- I want to say sixteen? Still thought that I could fix everything if I just killed something nasty enough and left it at the church's door. [ He really is a feral cat. ] Tracked down a vampire who was dragging beggars away in Caracal - offering them work to get them alone, that whole trick. Staked him, but he punched his claws right through me. Fucker.

Nobody even cared, in the end. He was careful. Only fed on those who wouldn't be missed.

So you've always dropped dead things on doorsteps.

[It's a little flat and annoyed, but also so dreadfully fond. Of course he always did that. The Hold made it clear that kind of behavior was encouraged.

There's a gentle circle being rubbed there on that scar as Trevor explains, because the angle to kiss is a bit awkward.]

Your handiwork or a doctor's?

Doctor, I suppose. One of the people he was going to drag off knew a friend, who had a sister whose husband's cousin was a farm worker who helped cows with difficult births. He had a lot of ale, a lot of confidence, and a needle.

[ ...so a vet. He got sent to a vet. ]

Close enough. It healed well.

[You're here. And that's your turn over, Trevor.]

[ He reaches out. There are some he knows. Some he saw that Alucard was unconscious for the healing of. A little hesitantly, his hand settles on the side of Alucard's neck, just below his jaw.

Best to get some of the worst out of the way early on, so he knows for sure whether or not this was a good idea. ]

Remember, if it's difficult, you can stop.

I know.

[But he is also trying so hard to do this in the spirit of the thought, because it is a good idea.

This one gets a closed set of eyes, a tenser vampire. He hated this one.]

Before that other...thing used, the pomander. There was a neck iron. Just for being conscious that first time. The angle of it is why that was so close to the jaw. Stayed there because silver was rubbed into the open flesh.

[ He leans in to ghost his lips over the nonexistent scar. And then he stays there, just long enough to wrap his arms around Alucard and whisper in his ear. ]

You're doing well. You're doing so, so well.

[ ...it might almost be a little condescending, save for that it's completely obvious when Trevor is being a dick and when he's being sincere. He pulls back, settling himself back on his cushion.

Alucard's turn. ]

[The sincerity is obvious. To snub it would be be the real dick move, and for right now, things feel...no, not great. But the bile that comes up sometimes with these memories, it hasn't bubbled. He hasn't had a bad shake yet.

Yet.

So he nods and takes another moment before opening his eyes. Alucard's hands, both of them, move to Trevor's back and trace over something that he knows is there. Long and thin and white-ish, something that Alucard's seen time and again.]

Hard to reach that one.

Ugh, that piece of shit.

[ That one takes some remembering - god, he was drunk and worse for that one. ]

Don't remember why I told him my name - must have trusted him. Put some shit in my ale, and next thing I know I'm on the ground and I don't know what the shit is going on and he's trying to carve 'heretic' into my back. Which is stupid, because I don't know when he expects anyone to see my back. Except I moved, so the knife just went across.

[Alucard flinches at that one. He can't not, it's disgusting that anyone would think that doing something along those lines would be acceptable. And what is the point of an action like that anyway, what does one gain? Nothing but pointless satisfaction.

He rests both of his hands on top of Trevor's knees and squeezes gently. The turn is over.]

[ His hands settle against Alucard's ribs, beneath his coat but over his shirt. He's still careful, still gentle, but he's growing less overly cautious. Alucard can be trusted to speak up when he wants this to end, at this point. ]

[There's so much warmth in those hands. And where they rest, that one was a special sort of hell.]

One of the crucibles from my mother's workshop was used to melt silver. An...an inordinate amount. [He pauses for this one, because the part of the act that outraged him was not the melted silver, but taking from his mother's laboratory. And using it like this. Undeniably the point, but still.]

Applied. It was too hot, the agony knocked me out for the worst of it. The smell though that...[There's a shudder.] Hovered for too long.

[ That was one that manages to surprise him. The Belmonts never had a use for molten silver. His fingers twitch, only slightly. His face remains soft. Carmilla is dead. This is done with. All that remains is to drain the poison from the wound, the same way he did with stories and words. His hands trail softly over Alucard's ribs, around to the small of his back where they rub softly, slipping just underneath his shirt to do so. As they do, he kisses Alucard. On the lips this time, soft and quick and genuinely chaste as is possible in this situation. ]

[There's no near collapse from unburdening this particular horror, even though it is one of the ones that comes up time and again when Alucard is out foraging. Perhaps that's just because it's one of the activities he did with his mother, going out into the woods and fighting over which mushrooms were safe, and to have that connection just gave the whole thing worse power. He's had to sit when it's surfaced before, smell of burnt flesh in his nostrils.

And one day he'll be able to at least deliver some snarky comment about how Trevor's just managed the most innocent kiss while totally shirtless (because that's a thing happening here and now), but it isn't happening tonight. There's just a kiss (and maybe he returns it too eagerly), and that is that.]

[ It's probably not the worst of it. He knows that. He suspects he knows what the absolute worst will be. He's known since he came up with this stupid game. Eventually he'll place his hands over Alucard's ears and ask him what Carmilla said, and that will be the worst of it.

But it's shitty. And that Alucard can say it all so plainly with only a little hesitation is a good sign. This is working.

He pulls back, bringing a hand to Alucard's cheek to stroke it softly (he was crying earlier, wasn't he? He isn't now, but he would have objected to the gesture then whether it was needed or not. Better late than never). ]

Your turn. Do your worst.

[There's not much left of the calmness, if Alucard was to pause for a moment and actually acknowledge the churning mess in his head. Stormclouds, about to break, held off by sheer surprise. Picking things out and laying them flat on the table to be examined, it'll work. But then there will be one thing plucked that brings a flood, and they'll have to put this all on hold for a day or so. Just enough to stuff all the things back behind the dam wall, let it settle, and begin again.

But he doesn't. The hand on his cheek is soon enclosed by one of Alucad's own, wanting to keep it there. There's such warmth in the weight (never mind the summer), such aching familiarity that it helps ignore the threat of overflow.]

In fairness, I'm beginning to detect that all of these are the worst.

[Not a great attempt at a joke. But he's also right, which in this case is a rather upsetting thing to be. All the same, the hand not atop Trevor's hovers for a moment, then settles on something just below the collar bone.

Alucard had kissed it a whole of once, and there was a sour face at the time. Never again. And for all the other scars on Trevor that never got a disapproval during times in bed (and very much not), it was a mystery.]

At least a few are from fucking up with the whip. Or from falling off a horse.

[ He sighs when Alucard's hand presses against the scar at his collar. Well, he did invite Alucard to do his worst. A hand against it he can deal with. A fanged mouth, less so. ]

Vampire again. This one found me, heard word that there was a Belmont nearby and decided to go hunting instead of leaving. First time I ran into one who could do the compulsion thing, so I just ended up standing there like an idiot while he bit.

[ He had seemed the most beautiful, perfect creature in the world. Following the instruction to remain still and not fight had just made sense. He broke free when the vampire actually tried to turn him, because that went so far against his nature. There's a reason he's so quick to recognize attempts at using compulsion these days. ]

Fangs wouldn't have left a scar, but- [ But he carved out the flesh himself, so that there would be no part of him that those fangs had touched. ] -you know, precautions.

Edited 2018-12-08 17:20 (UTC)

[Small wonder fangs are forbidden from that spot. What's far more than that is...is any of this. Any kind of trust built up, because there's been enough past experiences to forbid it. It's a reminder of how truly extraordinary the circumstances were that drove all three of them together. An enshrinement of what that work required that has allowed them to stay together.

No fangs there. Or fingers now, just Alucard's forehead resting on the spot for a long moment, hair sliding down to cover his face. There's that natural coolness of him pressed to that spot, still a blessing for the summer.]

Of course.

[And he lingers.]

[ Even if it were winter, he's accustomed enough to the cool of Alucard's skin that it's impossible for it not to be comforting. Lips would be too much, even Sypha's fangless ones (both Sypha and Alucard really are the most beautiful, perfect creatures in the world. It's too much. Too similar), but this is nice. He leans forward to press his lips into Alucard's hair.

He pushes his hands under Alucard's coat again, settling over his shoulder blades. If he's ready for another turn, then it's Trevor's choice. If not- if not then it can just be another touch, another reminder that neither of them are alone for this. ]

[He's going to stay there until Trevor moves him. Like this is nice. The sensation of softness against his hair is nice. Always has been. Always will be, and with them both, that sensation is only for one lifetime.

Shoulders? Stakes, no, those were lower. Near all the vital bits inside the torso, angled to just miss. The twine? His legs, not up there. The molten silver, no. Which means that this next part is very embarrassing.]

I don't think I recall.

[ One of them was going to end up saying that sooner or later. He's been drunk for so many of his scars that some of them he can only offer guesses at. And- whether or not anything happened (perhaps nothing did, even if it seemed like there was no part of Alucard that had not been touched. He doesn't remember tending to any injuries across his back), Alucard not remembering is a good thing.

Of course, he never bothered to figure out rules for not remembering. He turns the touch into rubbing Alucard's back. This wasn't how he intended this to go- in his head this game seemed like it would work better if the only touching was to prompt words. It seemed more correct that way. But this is how it has ended up. ]

Your turn, or mine again? I never made rules for not remembering.

(for cryptsleeper)

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saturday work life in a bit, back in about 6ish hours.

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