Archive of Our Own ^beta

Trevor starts awake, groggily blinking the layered darkness away. It’s the tensing of muscles and the shift of warmth that does it, added to the reflexes honed by years of living as a vagabond, before he claimed his life back. They’ve spent the evening here, the three of them cuddled together, and now Sypha’s still snoozing at Trevor’s back, wriggling in her sleep as she sometimes does. Trevor follows Alucard with his gaze as the latter sits up in bed and turns away. Trevor’s arm falls back onto the empty side, still warm from his body.

He sees Alucard’s shape crowned by soft moonlight as he scuttles at the edge of the bed; the broad lines of his back curving when he falls into a hunched position, his head in his hands.

When a sigh reaches him, Trevor rises too because there goes any pretense of sleep, and, heedful not to wake Sypha, carefully slides over closer to Alucard. “Nightmare?” He knows how these things go, looking at the disorderly fall of Alucard’s nightshirt over his shoulders and the empty, haunted stare turned spectral in the shadows.

Alucard nods, running a hand through his hair before his hands fall lifelessly in his lap. His chest rises with every breath; he looks sleep-deprived and distraught, arguably one of those Crappy States of being Trevor knows too much about — another stupid ‘gift’ yielded by years spent smothering the past in unknown burrows of himself, until it bursts and wails and flails its skeletal limbs at night, taking the form of apparitions wielding exaggerations of loss, mourning, death and guilt. “What was it about?” He’s always been blunt, always shit at appraising others’ need for space, but he and Alucard trust each other enough by now to know the worry and care that lies beneath.

Alucard is silent, his breathing the loudest sound in the room, so loud Trevor can almost see the fight for control. “You.” 

The whisper of that lone word is fraught with fear such as Trevor’s rarely, if ever, heard from Alucard, and the hunter recalls how helpful it would have been once, to have someone there, someone to help him settle back into reality, to tell him none of it would come true, that nothing could haunt us more than we allow ourselves to be. Wise words, falling short now. “I’m here, though,” he murmurs. “Wanna…” he doesn’t have the chance to say ‘...talk about it?’ as Alucard stands and stalks across the chamber with that ghostly tread of his, towards the balcony; he disappears beyond the vaporous drapes dancing in the wind through the open door.

Trevor follows, barefooted and in his sleeping clothes, taking a generous inhale of the warm gusts fragrant with scents of pine and grass, meandering in soft waves from the forest. There are three chairs and a low tea table set to one sheltered side, and Trevor takes a seat close to where Alucard flopped down, now pressing his knuckles into his eyes, now scratching at his scalp, his jaw clenched and knees brought together. The hunter places a hand on Alucard’s shoulder, squeezes, but draws no attention to himself otherwise. He waits and stares out at the peaceful stillness of the scenery beyond, and he never thought he’d conceive of this, but — the castle, this lump of charred rock and magic that became his home, has its charm. Sometimes. He stares and stares until Alucard’s breathing calms, and Trevor watches the man he loves drag a slow hand over his face.

“You can go back to bed, Trevor. I’ll be fine.”

Bullshit. Bullshit. He’s almost offended at Alucard’s deflection, but this isn’t about him. “You don’t look fine, Highness.”

Alucard snorts at the term — the closest to anything resembling endearment Trevor could come up with. The two of them have fought often enough and flipped out on each other enough while discovering the scarily similar perception of the world they held, had hurt each other and flew through so many hoops just to understand; all the while dealing with an inescapable attraction and arch emotion weaving into their developing friendship, deeper and tighter with the passing of time until it could not be denied. Still, one thing that will never change, which Trevor will still fight teeth to dagger, is Alucard’s tendency towards mental self-flagellation. “Nope, not gonna happen.” If he stands his ground, it’s usually a waiting game. 

Alucard tucks his chin into his chest, leans back. Trevor can only curse these damn wicker chairs and will absolutely move a proper couch out here so he can actually hold Alucard and Sypha close. For now, all he can do is gently prop his head on Alucard’s shoulder and stroke Alucard’s arm, like one does a frightened pup after a nasty scare.

The night breathes slowly around them with slumbering life. The moon’s face is round and silvery in the sky, chasing the stars away, and it’s not too cold, even considering their flimsy nightclothes. 

“You were gone.” 

Trevor waits, staring out into the world, hand still running up and down Alucard’s arm. 

“In what way?” The question seems off, but Alucard will know. In the haunted planes of thought, there are many ways to lose.

There’s a sound of grinding teeth; in a practiced movement, Trevor reaches and gently cups Alucard’s chin, tilting it towards him and massaging into the jaw with his thumb. “You’re doing it again,” he says, and the look in Alucard’s eyes is indescribable; there’s yearning; desperation, there’s need, yearning, need, fear, yearning—

Trevor leans close and presses his lips to Alucard’s forehead, releasing his chin. 

“We’d just… we were returning from my childhood room, and Sypha was there, but when I looked around, you, you were gone. And then,” he pauses as Trevor finds his hand, squeezes. “It was as though you’d never existed. I asked Sypha about you. She didn’t know, didn’t know you, I searched, and searched, I took the castle apart and you were…”

“It’s not real,” Trevor says, fingers running through Alucard’s disheveled hair. Yup, still shit at this, but he will sure as hell try.

“I know, I know, but…”

“I know,” Trevor says, because he does. He’s had dreams of losing Sypha, of losing them both, of suddenly being just as alone in the world as before and there are no words to describe the devastation of seeing it in your mind’s eye, even in the evanescent, capricious realm of dreams. “I’m here, yeah? Safe and sound, just as annoying, and intruding on your personal space as ever,” he brushes his nose against Alucard’s cheek, hoping for a smile that doesn’t come. His other arm reaches around Alucard’s back, urging him closer and he so willingly melts into Trevor, his pale hands grasping his shoulder, his hair, his shirt. 

“You’re here,” he repeats, nuzzling Trevor in that way he does when seeking his mouth, and Trevor’s... more than willing to oblige. He’s breathing in, out, and all of it is Alucard, and before he knows it the chairs creak as they struggle to hold one another, to be as close as they possibly can.

“Fuck! these chairs!” Trevor grumbles against Alucard’s mouth as he nips and tastes, as his hands drop to feel the tension of pectorals and biceps and strong thighs.

When he’s nearly out of breath, a metaphorical light goes off in his head. This isn't why he's here, not now. Trevor turns his face away so Alucard’s lips alight on his cheek. “Rest first,” he draws back and meets Alucard’s wanting eyes, trying to ignore how stupid he is for stopping: there’s beauty in the man he holds close that neither God nor Hell could have devised alone, and here, in a spot on Earth in the moonlight Trevor would fall to his knees and show him all the wanton adoration he deserves. But, his own sappy feelings aside, Alucard looks like he needs sleep more than he needs petting and there's an easy decision. Trevor rises, valiantly ignoring the tent in his pants as he leads them silently inside, hand in hand. 

They carefully take to bed next to Sypha as before, where they see she’s battled the sheets in her sleep again, as they're thrown every which way. Her legs are bare and Trevor smiles at Alucard while they both reach to straighten the blankets around her. Sypha mumbles, turns on her belly. Trevor kisses her shoulder and regains his place between his friends and lovers, reaching for Alucard and pulling him close out of habit; he meets no resistance, only the warmth of a curved back against Trevor’s chest, the beating of a rabbit-heart into Trevor’s palm. He noses at the nape of Alucard’s neck even as a shudder runs through the long body lined against him, even as slender fingers press tightly and weave with his own rough ones. If Sleep were a sorcerer, its spells must be the strongest of all entities roaming the world, because Alucard’s warmth is the last sensation the hunter remembers as reality fades and the softness of oblivion takes over.

It’s the warmth that wakes him, and an irksome tickle; still drowsy with sleep, Trevor wrinkles his nose, tries to blow away the offending thread. When he stirs, there’s a stir in response. It smells great, too, lying here with his face pressed to Alucard’s hair fragrant with chamomile, the silk of long strands caressing his skin. Trevor takes a good long breath of it, of Alucard, a part of him awakening to the present. Before he knows it, he’s seeking more of that warm meld, more of that scent, bringing Alucard that much closer — which, when there’s no supernatural resistance involved, always proves easy enough. Trevor raises his head as grips tighten and they press more into each other, sees the inviting tip of a pointed ear poking out from the messy fall of brilliant gold. When he feels the tilt of hips against his front Trevor hesitates for a breath, then gives it a tender, tentative lick; Alucard tenses, and Trevor feels it everywhere: his arm, his palm, his chest and legs, wherever their bodies are touching. He sees the slow flutter of eyelashes, the corner of parted lips and gleam of sharp fangs. 

Teetering between indulgence, uncertainty and a sudden overflow of want, Trevor waits, pressing his mouth to Alucard’s ear again; he strains against Trevor with lazy, feline grace, in a motion so intentional there’s no room for doubt as to what’s happening here. Still holding Alucard by the waist he takes a leap and sucks the tip of that slight, diaphanous appendage into his mouth, the soft sighs that follow feeding a raw hunger that only grows stubbornly in his belly, taking up more and more and more.

His battered hand paws over Alucard’s side, feeling down his ribs, fingers digging into the dip beneath his hipbone. Alucard turns his head and instead of his ear, Trevor finds a willing mouth. Okay, okay. He probably looks like a dumbass, gaping as he does with bleary eyes but they’re above and beyond the awkwardness of the beginning and he knows Alucard likes it, welcomes it, revels in appreciation like anyone given the chance, like any person who’s shown care and affection and love after starving for it.

He stares into Alucard’s shadowed gaze, his eyes bright and irises gemlike in the grays and blues of night. There’s that same desperation from earlier on his face, but it’s different, needing, needing, needing and Trevor's sucking at those lips to show truths where his words fall short, his hand caught in Alucard’s hair. They’re slow in building each other from ash to fire, and never breaking their kiss Trevor feels Alucard again, close to losing it when his hand reaches lower, brushing over the undeniable evidence which proves he’s welcomed; Alucard’s as hard as sun-kissed marble beneath his touch, his breathing fast and hitched against Trevor’s mouth. The muscle in his thigh tenses as his legs slide slightly apart, body arching into Trevor’s hand.

“Fine, then, we’re doing this,” Trevor whispers with half a shit-eating grin, biting and licking at Alucard’s mouth and bringing the nightshirt above his navel. 

When he takes that girthy cock in hand and gives the base a tight squeeze, Alucard whines in a way that makes it impossible to maintain coherent thought. So, Trevor doesn’t even try. What he does, though, is stroke Alucard, holding him tightly against his own hardening cock, and works him and works him and works him, swallowing the faint moans and sighs escaping their kiss as they struggle to keep it low — not that Sypha’d be exempt of the fun, should she wake and feel like joining them. Alucard’s silent entreaty is both insistent and subdued, and at the moment, this seems to be what he needs.

“Good?” Trevor asks just to be sure, breaking the kiss to gaze at his lover; when he squeezes and does one of those interesting flicks of the wrist, Alucard’s eyes roll back as he nods, and fuck if that doesn’t nearly send Trevor spiraling, with his own weepy cock now tightly nudged between Alucard’s cheeks, the shallow but constant friction as he moves so good and weakening he has to make a genuine effort to keep quiet. He matches the motion of his hand to his hips, stroke for stroke; moving to Alucard’s sighs and the frantic little thrusts of hip as he fucks himself on Trevor’s hand, and soon there’s more slick of precum which means he can go for those nice, long tugs they both like when they’re jerking each other off.

They rock back and forth together and Trevor goes faster, his hand gripping Alucard’s hair painfully tight, kissing along his jaw, and beyond himself, lowers his head and clenches his teeth hard on that spot on Alucard's neck which Trevor knows he loves; it’s doubled by a muffled groan as Alucard turns his face into the pillow, body wracked by sudden shivers. Fresh hot slick spurts all over Trevor's hand, and he’s so gone he just holds Alucard down and ruts faster between his cheeks, until he’s grabbing at Alucard for dear life, until he’s being kissed senseless and with one desperate thrust falls into the burning pool of relief that drowns his breaths and he’s flung out of his skin; he’s blind with pleasure, he’s a speck in the outer ocean floating back on turbulent tides dispersing into ripples and through it all, he only knows Alucard, Alucard, Adrian, Adrian.

They’re both panting, embraced in silence, hot and slippery and covered in each other. Alucard turns his head, and in the cold beams of light falling on his face, there's unmatched relief fringing the sweetness of an afterglow. “Thank you.” He takes Trevor by the chin, gives him the softest nibble. 

“Just so you know,” Trevor adds, welcoming another kiss, “Thanking me for this — really weird. I’ll… I’ll go bring something to clean us up,” he whispers, but suddenly can’t move for Alucard’s iron hold on his arm.

A scoff. Alucard’s just as wise to Trevor and his deflections nowadays, which can go both ways. But Trevor can’t bring himself to say, ‘I love you, I love being with you, I’d do anything for you.’ Not now. Now, it would somehow ruin the moment, or something. Wouldn't it? Instead, he runs a careful hand through Alucard’s hair, staring at his lover in the space between their sighs. No matter, he thinks as Alucard turns fully and hugs him close, as he tangles his legs with Trevor’s and brings their foreheads together, a smile pulling at his lips. No matter, Trevor thinks again on a sigh. He knows.