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The Academic Approach

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Somewhere in the midst of a lazy afternoon spent in the now mostly-repaired library (a few shelves still needed to be replaced, but the majority of debris had been thrown out and the broken glass had all been swept away), you stand from your favorite reading spot, an overstuffed armchair tucked into one of the more secluded alcoves on the upper level, and feel a dreaded twinge in your abdomen, for the third time today. Not that you’ve been counting.

Alucard, on the other hand, has been. He peers at you curiously over the top of his current tome (something in Chaldaic, you think. You’re only sure that it isn’t Latin or the common tongue.). You can tell without looking that he is, as accustomed as you’ve become to the prickle at the nape of your neck when he does. It’s a sixth sense, really, but a fairly useless one at that.

“Something wrong?” You half yawn, trying to mask your discomfort and play it off nonchalantly.

“I should ask the same of flinch every time you stand. Why?”

“I didn’t know I was such a source of distraction, Your Highness.” you huff impatiently. Sarcasm does little to deter his pointed look, and you sigh. “I’ve got a sore back, I must’ve slept funny. It happens.” You mumble lamely. “Nothing to hound you from your studies.”

“If you say so…” He seems unconvinced, but drops the subject for now. He seems...tense. You cough.

“I’m going to. Get something to drink. Thirsty?”

“Not at the moment, thank you.” he says coolly.

You shrug, not bothering to question the sudden chill, and slip down the stairs. You close the library door as quietly behind you as possible, before putting your back to the wall and letting yourself slide until you realize your face is resting against cool flagstone. You sigh wearily, cradling your stomach, biting back a whine. You couldn’t risk Alucard’s sensitive hearing picking up such a pitiful noise, or there’d be no end to his prodding. You indulge yourself in a few moments of pity lying there on the floor, before you force yourself up on your feet again and head downstairs, hoping the kitchen was still where you last left it.

Along the way you pass a washroom, and upon use you confirm what the dread in your gut already told you. Blood. Just a spot, now, but you knew well enough what was to come. You wash your hands, gulp down a few mouthfuls of water from the sink, and set off in search of a sufficiently absorbent bit of scrap cloth to remedy the situation.

Having turned your quarters inside out as well as searched several of the more cluttered storerooms in your knowledge, your search rewards you with exactly one (1) moth-eaten bolt of cloth to serve your needs, which you quite frantically reduce to strips and tie in place before putting yourself back together and returning to the library as quickly as possible, hoping nothing is visibly amiss.

Alucard pretends to focus on his book, now a vivid red volume of anatomical diagrams. The color and coincidence unsettles you as you return to your chair and pick up the volume you had been working on, a journal on propriety and manners in undead society. This was, surprisingly, not at Alucard’s behest; he seemed sort of flustered when you first appeared with it, having done his best to acclimate to human habits instead. You try and fail not to let your eyes drift over to watch him as he flips the pages disinterestedly, and damn it, now you’ve made eye contact. He clicks his tongue thoughtfully, eyes giving you a once-over.

“You forgot your drink.” He comments. “Did you lose your way again?”

“N-no, I just. Didn’t bring it back with me. That’s all.” You focus your eyes stubbornly on your book. He pauses, then shuts his book with a distracting “Thmp!” before adding it to the pile of books to reshelve. He paces a nearby bookcase for a moment before returning with another book, this time with “Via Verborum; De Philosophia Communicationis” across the cover in large gold leaf. The Philosophy of Communication. There was no way he wasn’t doing this on purpose, now.

Well, two could play at that! You set aside your journal, carefully marking your place for later, and stalk up to the nearest shelf of medical texts. Vampire biology, ha! How does that feel, princeling? You carry the tome back to your chair and crack it open. It dawns on you, you aren’t entirely sure if vampires in general experience your, ah, current malaise, let alone dhampir, were he to have the necessary equipment. You find yourself actually reading the tome instead of just being petty with it.

You can see him squint at the title out of your peripheral vision, puzzled for a moment, and then he shakes his head. He sets his book down again and wanders among the shelves for a bit longer this time. When he comes back, you could almost see a faint blush at the tips of his ears. Not that you were watching, of course.

He opens the rich blue covers gingerly to preserve it’s aging spine, angling the book so that the cover was clearly visible to you. You ignore it, focusing on a description of vampiric reproduction. He clears his throat. You continue to the section on the genetic roulette that was human-vampire crossbreeding. It seemed Alucard was very lucky to not only have survived til birth, but to have become so strong with so few of the drawbacks of either species.

You finally look over when he makes a rather feigned hum of interest. His latest pick was much less convoluted; A collection in the common tongue titled “The Courtship of Eros”. You try to pass off your surprised squeak as a more dignified cough. It doesn’t work. After a brief glance over the section on the turning of new vampires, you set your book aside to return to later. You have honor to defend now.

Trying not to seem too bothered by his new choice of material, you return to the stacks, this time just going for the most visually intimidating book you can find. You snatch the largest volume off a high shelf, wincing at the exertion, and return to your seat. Flipping through a few pages in the middle, you flinch again at the realization that you’ve just grabbed some kind of deviant seduction manual, if the large woodblock prints demonstrating proper analingus technique were anything to go by. You’re not sure what language it’s written in, but the words seem entirely secondary.

“Are you...quite alright, there?” Alucard fights to keep a snicker out of his voice when he speaks, and maybe you’ve just solved your blood problem, because all of it has surely just been sucked up into your face, judging by the heat of your cheeks.

“I-I’m fine...just some light reading…” you mumble, angling the book away when he tries to sneak a glance at the page. You clear your throat. “You seem. Indecisive today.” You gesture to the stack of books he’d set aside.

“Hmn.” He shrugs. “As do you.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I believe I asked you first. Are you sure you’re...alright?” His expression is something unreadable, not simple concern like before. He really does seem distracted now. You put the sex book down and sigh.

“Fine, you win.” You lean back in your chair. “I have an...intermittent issue that seems to have unexpectedly returned.” You kick your feet in a decidedly puerile manner.

“My mother was a physician, you know. I do know some things. That is why I offered my concern.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to be done for it.” You shift in your seat, closing your legs tightly, suddenly recalling Alucard’s heightened senses. As if to taunt you specifically, the universe chooses then to send the worst wave of cramping yet, so much so that you jolt forward, doubling over and falling out of your chair. It clicks into place.

“You’re…” He trails off, blushing. “I didn’t realize you--I’m sorry, I had assumed…”

“Yeah, sorry to disappoint.” you hiss through clenched teeth. “I’m not exactly royally endowed, your highness.” You curl in on yourself further, wanting to disappear.

“Stop that.” He snaps back. “You know that isn’t what I think of you.” his voice lowers, “You’ve never disappointed me.” He gently lays a hand on your side, and you flinch at the cool touch. Your skin feels like fire, and despite your predicament you can suddenly only think of that cool skin pressed against every inch of you.

“Ah. Give it time.” you try to go back to sounding playfully self-deprecating, but it falls flat.

“You sound just like Belmont.” He sighs.

“Is that a compliment or an insult, I can never tell.”

“Both.” He moves to sit more comfortably beside you as you tense with another wave of pain. “...How often do they get this bad? You’re bleeding so much…”

“First or second day is always the worst. I can usually move normally after that.”

“Can you move now?” His face clearly states that it’s Not Normal to be unable to move for any length of time in this situation.

You give him A Look and he nods. “Ah, right. If you don’t mind, I’m going to carry you.”

You chuckle. “Don’t want me to bleed out on your carpet? Fair enough.” As he pulls you into his arms, that need for skin contact tugs at you again, and you push it down. “Where are we going?”

“The Master Bath. More sanitary than the dusty floor.” He mutters. You realize the closer he holds you, the more tense he seems. “Is--Is the...smell...bothering you?” You cover your face with your hands. “It’s bad enough to me, I can’t imagine. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking, I assure you. You smell…” he swallows, his throat dry. “Exquisite.” You don’t have time to puzzle over this before you’ve arrived in the master bedroom. He sets you down at the bathroom door gently, and you silently marvel at the extensive collection of fine soaps and colognes while he begins to draw a bath.

“What’s your plan, Doctor Ҭepeş?” You say, trying to sound hopeful. He seems to get more flustered with the moniker. “Please, I’m no doctor.” He braces himself and gestures to the tub, more than big enough for two. “This is hardly going to sound scientific, but…” He bites his lip, but it’s far too late for second thoughts here. He’d have to explain. “In my experience, orgasm can...dull the pain for a little while. So I thought, perhaps...if you’d like assistance, I could…” he trails off, whatever blood he had in his body hovering at the surface, making him pink all the way down the collar. You can relate.

“Y-you want to...f-fuck me? That’s your prescription?” You can’t uncover your mouth, you’re too flustered. You’re more shocked than angry, and you can only hope your tone reflects this.

“We--I don’t have to--” He coughs. “Not necessarily something as involved as that. If you prefer, I could simply…” he licks his parched lips nervously. “Service you.”

“...You’re thirsty thirsty?” You look down at yourself, “From this?”

“It is still blood...” He adds, in his defense. “If it’s an unfavorable compromise, I can show myself out. You’re, ah, still welcome to use the bath.” He seems a bit disappointed, but ever the gentleman. “I apologize for speaking of it so bluntly.”

You sigh, weighing your options; you’d certainly had your share of wild fantasies, but this wasn’t how you’d imagined something like this starting. Another wave of cramps suddenly has you white-knuckling the edge of the tub and you groan. Anything to stop this, even for a moment. The idea of his body on yours again ignited a chasmic want that demanded satisfaction.

“Alright.” You hesitate as you reach for your belts. “But I’m not the only one getting naked, here.” You add with a pout. He chuckles and nods, starting to disrobe as well. He starts by peeling off his gloves with his teeth, and you’re immediately distracted, letting your now bloody trousers drop to the floor, your belt clinking on the tile. You hurry to get your shirt and undervest off, spying out of the corner of your eye as he unbuttons his billowing white dress shirt, revealing his perfectly sculpted porcelain chest, with his jagged scar fading from shoulder to hip the only mark on its surface. You both hesitate at the last layer, he in his fine cloth undergarments and you with your makeshift loincloth.

“Well, we’re all men here, hm?” he shrugs and unfastens the ties at his hips, letting the garment flutter to the ground. You follow suit, kicking your own laundry out of the way and trying to ignore the sensation of blood starting to trickle down your leg in thin rivulets.

Alucard--you wonder idly if you should call him Adrian, if you’re going to be this intimate--kneels in front of you. He’s well endowed, a fact that seems to be becoming more apparent as he looks up at you, staring at the thin rubies running down your inner thigh. He rests his hands on your hips gently as he nudges your legs apart just enough to swipe his tongue up the trail of red, gently lapping at what’s collected on your outer lips. He chokes back an embarrassing noise and pulls away again, his chin and nose smeared with red and that really shouldn’t make you throb the way it does. “Sorry, ah. Perhaps it would be more comfortable to relax in the bath?” You nod, dumbstruck.

The water is cooler than you would normally draw it, you suppose due to Adrian’s lower body temperature. It’s not unwelcome, though. Warm enough to keep off a chill, but cool enough to soothe your feverish skin. You wonder if all of you is as red as it feels.

You idly take Adrian’s hand in yours as he climbs in after you, and lead him to the far side of the tub. He starts to take a seat and gesture for you to do the same, but you stop him, pulling him into a sudden, desperate embrace. His cool skin soothes yours and you give a pleased little moan. On the other hand, your feverish skin ignites something equally desperate in him, his cock twitching sandwiched between you.

You whine weakly as he peels you off of him and kneels again, pulling you down into the bath and into his lap. Despite his apparent eagerness, his foremost thought is your comfort, and he eases into things with gentle kisses trailing down your shoulders. He gently sets you against the other end of the tub, and you drape your arms over the sides as he continues his descent, climbing over you to lavish kisses down to your collarbone. He pauses here, glancing up at you as he gauges your reaction. “May I…?”

“M-maybe not just yet…” You mumble as you look away, self-conscious of the softness of your chest. He nods compassionately and shifts lower, to your stomach, lifting your legs onto his shoulders and supporting your hips just barely out of the water. You brace yourself for his tongue again, but instead yelp at the press of lips against your inner thigh instead, just light enough to be ticklish.

“I didn’t mean to surprise you…” His voice is muffled but you can feel him grinning, his face clamped between your thighs. You gingerly open them enough to give him some room to work with, doing your best to scowl down at him, but a gentle graze of fangs across the other thigh, even closer to the target, makes that difficult.

You can hear the pleasant moan as he takes a deep breath before diving in, starting with long, wide strokes of his tongue, gentle but growing stronger, more insistent. He holds your lips apart, exploring slowly. He quickly finds your cock, hard and throbbing and, given your circumstance, larger than he’d expected, and laves his tongue around it, using a finger to push back the hood and explore the sensitive ridges of its head, before circling his lips over it and suckling at the nub. You moan loudly, your first instinct to slap your hand over your mouth before you realize there would be no one to overhear. With this realization, you keep one arm to brace yourself against the tub, and tangle the fingers of your other hand in the platinum locks blocking your view of his beautiful face, pulling them back sharply. He moans against your cock and you bite your lip, trying not to squirm.

Feeling satisfied with his work, he looks up at you from underneath his lashes as he dips lower with his tongue, probing your tender entrance. You nod for him to continue, and he meets little resistance as he presses in, suddenly overwhelmed as his tongue is coated in your flavor, the heady ferrous bite of your blood mixed with the salty-sweetness of your other libations. He moans loudly, his face pressed firmly against you as he swirls his tongue inside, trying to get as deep as he can. You gladly hold him tighter between your legs, rocking gently against him as he begins to thrust his tongue in and out of you, every so often retreating to swipe along the length of your sex before returning to his previous pace.

“Please, oh fuck, oh god, Please--!” you whine incoherently as pleasure coils low in your stomach, arching your back, feeling so close and yet so far, your body aching for something more substantial than tongue alone. He hums in mock thoughtfulness before pulling away for a moment, licking his chops with a wolfish grin.

“Please what?”

“Please…” you whine, having no composure to spare for the sake of pride, “I want you…”

He presses a kiss gently to the hood of your cock. “But I’m right here, darling.” You groan in frustration.

“I want you--inside of me.” You bite your lip. “I want your cock -” After you say it so hungrily a whole torrent of lewd things spills out, “-I want you inside me, I want to feel you move, feel you cum inside,  fill me with you--” Your hips twitch at the thought. “...I want you to enjoy it too...” You add, sheepishly.

“So demanding.” He tsks with a grin, before his expression softens. “I’m not...certain that’s a wise decision to make, in the heat of the moment.” Not that it wasn’t tempting , he thought, his neglected cock twitching. Though he highly doubted his ability to sire children, risking such could lead to a much more harrowing experience, one with much less pleasant remedies. “But there are other options…” He added, his fingers playing with your entrance. You shiver, thinking of how smooth, how deftly those fingers moved, skilled at all they touched. You didn't doubt he would be skilled with them here, too

“Please.” you breathe, and he is only too happy to oblige, one long, thin digit probing inside, then quickly joined by another. He thrust them deeply, exploring with his hand what he’d just mapped with his tongue, his fingertips curling into a strange come-hither motion that you don’t quite understand until he finds what he’d been looking for and you jolt and gasp. He smirks, and proceeds to massage the spot with gentle, teasing fingers. You squeeze around them desperately, panting.

“M-more…” You choke out between little moans. He hums, adding a third finger with little resistance. He splays them open, stretching you further, and you whine; it feels good, but it only seems to make you feel more empty. “Please--”

“More?” He asks, shifting his weight slightly to prop you at a better angle and to give him a free hand to tend himself as well. You nod emphatically, suddenly struck shy. “Ah-as much as will fit--I can take it…”

Adrian pauses a moment, before removing his hand and grabbing a small bottle of oil from the edge of the tub and spreading its contents across his fingers. “Just to be sure. I don’t want to hurt you.” He explains, spreading a bit extra around your entrance for good measure. The oil is cool against your skin, but warms quickly, and his touch is silken as he slides back in, first with three fingers, then curving his hand to fit his little finger in too. You groan as you feel him press in further, stretching you impossibly wide. He moves at a glacial pace, and you realize he’s stopped tending himself as well to give you his undivided attention. His eyes seem to monitor even the most minute detail of your expression. “Try to relax. There may be a slight pressure, but tell me immediately if it hurts.”

You nod breathlessly, gently lifting your hips to try and ease more of him into you once the discomfort fades. You give the most wanton moan as you feel his fingers flex inside you, wriggling, rubbing against tender walls. “Do you want more? It’s almost all the way in.” He worries his own lip with his fang, feeling you shudder around him, and you nod. He pushes his way inside, tucking his thumb into the hollow between his other fingers. He pauses at the knuckle, watching your face carefully before plunging the rest of the way in with an obscenely wet noise.

You put your arm over your face in embarrassment, and he’s all too quick to fret over you. “Are you alright? Does it hurt? Should I stop?” You shake your head, squeezing the hand inside you with a little mewl. “It’s s-so full…” you squirm, trying to grind down onto his hand. “C-can you move them again, your fingers? It feels strange but...nice…”

He obliges, slowly flexing his fingers and moving with shallow but firm thrusts. You can hear a slosh below you as he tends to himself with renewed vigor, his composure fraying quickly as you harmonize with his cries, gripping him close with your legs, your hand frantically trying to find skin to squeeze, your insides tight and undulating with an orgasm approaching like a great wave, sudden and inescapable. You can feel him pull out a little further, thrust a little deeper, and the knuckle of his thumb brushes that wonderful tender spot and it’s all you can do to remember to breathe, your vision hazing and your limbs tensing and twitching trying to hold him, pull him deeper, become one. You can’t keep your eyes off of him, his look of awe and reverence, his brow furrowing with his own impending release. You can only imagine what he sees of you right now.

He slowly eases his hand out of you with a quiet “pop” before drawing you to him, crawling over you to plant desperate kisses upon your lips. He tastes of you and your blood and in the moment, you don’t care. You kiss back, clinging to him, arching against him, grinding your ass against the head of his cock as he strokes himself frantically to completion. You pull back to look at him, but catch only the slightest glimpse of him; red-faced, brows knitted, jaw working in pleas that he’s too breathless to voice, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and you hold him tight, kissing and mouthing at his. As he shudders to a halt, something in your baser instinct makes you bite down hard, vague feelings of hunger, possessiveness, and love swirling in darkness.


It takes you both a moment to recover, but the first thing you understand is him carefully unlatching you from his shoulder in confusion, and collapsing to your side only marginally less boneless than you at the moment. He doesn’t refuse when you curl close to him again, but looks at you quizzically. “Did...did you just bite me?”

“No. Well. I mean. Yes. I think.” You pale, sobering from your afterglow much faster than you would like. “S-Sorry, I. That’s rude, isn’t it? I’m sorry.” you swallow, your throat suddenly dry, “I don’t think it’s bleeding, at least.”

He shakes his head, a grin growing there. “No, no. It’s rather amusing, really. I just hadn’t expected it.” He glanced to the side. “It...felt strange, but pleasant.” He puts his arms around you, tension melting away. “How are you feeling?”

You’d almost forgotten how you got into this mess. Patting your abdomen gently, you sigh. “Incredibly satisfied. A little sticky. Mm…” you think for a moment. “Kind of hungry.” He lets out a bark of laughter at that. He’s full of surprises today, you suppose.

You glance at the now utterly tepid bathwater, wrinkling your nose. Despite his best efforts not to waste blood given so freely, enough had gotten to the water to tinge it pink. He sighs. “We’ll have to change the bathwater, I think.”

You do so, and quickly wash together. You wash his back, as he carefully applies a litany of soaps and fragrances to his hair, and then to yours. Normally you had little need of such luxuries, but the doting was nice, and by the end it was like being wrapped in Adrian’s sweet scent. Almost.

As you get out and dry off, he fusses over your ruined clothes, insisting on finding you something better to wear. You wait patiently by the tub until he returns with fine dark linen and silks, as well as a strange sort of bandage of his mother’s invention, supposedly for puncture wounds. You suppose it must be better than what you’d managed to rig up to handle your troubles, so you thank him and start getting dressed while he reassembles himself as well.

You follow him into the bedroom, falling face-first onto the edge of his huge, plush bed in mock exhaustion while he rummages around for something or another. The next thing you know, Adrian is calling your name and gently shaking you awake by the shoulder. “I’m fine, I’m here, what?”

“You really fell asleep?” He snickers. “We’ll have to work on your stamina, dear.”

“I wasn’t--” You can feel the tips of your ears heat up as you realize the implication of a next time. “You want that again?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Not right this moment, of course. Even my bestial nature isn’t quite that insatiable.” He hums, smirking. “But of course, if you’d have me.”