Integra had begun to notice that sometimes Alucard would be blocked off from their mental connection. She couldn’t feel him, his emotions, nor the ghost of his thoughts the way she usually could. And it bothered her.
He hadn’t been ignoring her per se, he’d come if she called. So apparently he heard her, just not the other way around. It was just odd. She didn’t like his absence. It somehow felt like one of her senses had been abruptly cut off. She felt alone.
She hadn’t asked him about it yet, partly because she wasn’t sure how to put her question in words, and partly because saying something felt like admitting she liked having him in her head. She’d decided to herself that the next time she’d figure out what it was. And now next time had arrived. She was in her office when once again she was faced with that very alien feeling of isolation.
When the feeling persisted, she headed down to the basement, to see what new trouble he was inevitably brewing, she told herself. It was still early evening, he may have very well still been sleeping. But she was convinced the silence was deliberate on his part. And hadn’t she sensed him earlier in the day? She was half certain he’d been watching her in her office.
Regardless, she descended the long flight of stairs and down the hall leading to that cavernous “throne room” of his. Outside it, she noticed movement along the floor and walls. Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness she recognized them as his shadows writhing and coalescing on the floor like an inky curling fog. Dramatic as ever. She shook her head and persisted.
There were more shadows there, clinging to the walls, the floor. She couldn’t make him out immediately, but soon she realized he was sitting on the throne, head tilted back. It took her several more moments to register what she was seeing through her shock. He was devoid of his usual coat and waist jacket, only down to a white dress shirt loosened at the collar. Blood stained his lip, he must’ve bitten it. And… he was touching himself.
“Master,” he said, voice labored. “What a lovely surprise.” He didn’t seem to mind the intrusion. He didn’t even have the decency to stop. “You can’t say I didn’t take efforts to spare you.” His eyes were bright as they flickered to her. But that wasn’t really where she was looking. Her gaze kept dropping back to open trousers, where his ungloved hand gliding lazily over his erection.
“What— I…” she trailed off, at a loss. She realized she’d never seen anything like this in person before. “What are you doing?” she demanded, although the answer was clear enough.
He laughed, breathless. “This is what happens when one has such a… lovely… master. Did you think I’m unaffected?”
She gasped, blushing furiously. “You’re awful.”
“I might be. I do… appreciate you checking up on me though,” he said between gasps. “How sweet. My master misses me.”
Integra glared at him. “I only came down here to make sure you hadn’t keeled over and died,” she snapped.
“Several centuries too late, I’m afraid. I still appreciate the sentiment. Although… if I don’t have the decency to stop. Why is it you don’t have the decency to leave?” He said, echoing her earlier thoughts. “What is it; did you want to watch?”
“No, of course not.” She needed to stop looking. She trained her eyes on his face
He let out a strange, soft sound that she’d neverexpected to hear from him.“Oh, so you… want to help?”
She didn’t have a response to that.
“Then come here, dearest Master.” That voice. She could fall into it. “Help me.”
Integra couldn’t say what possessed her (she dared not admit it was desire) but she stepped towards him, close enough to see his pupils dilate. He was… beautiful with that half pained look on his face. She couldn’t deny that much. Beautiful, wicked, brazen.
He took her hand gently, and pulled her even closer until she was standing between his legs. He drew her captive hand lower, wrapped it around his erection. She hissed in a breath at the contact, but didn’t back away. He guided her, stroking himself with her hand, slowly at first, then fast enough that she thought it should hurt him. She had to brace against his shoulder to keep her balance, the way she was leaning. His free hand rested lightly on her hip.
She was too quietly fascinated by his gasping breaths, the texture of him under her fingers, even his bare hand on hers. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever touched his skin before, only the gloves. Only the fabric of his coat.
It was almost clinical interest that kept her rooted in place, interest at the way his hips raised rhythmically. At how his eyes were fixed on her. How her name sounded on his lips.
The hand on her hip had traveled up her body at some point, she hadn’t noticed when. But now it was comfortably grasping her breast. She refused to think about the growing ache between her own thighs, the fact that she was disconcertingly wet.
She was finally shaken out of her reverie when his movements became even more erratic. The hand guiding hers going slack as shuddering waves passed over his body. His climax was punctuated by a spray of something that looked to be a mix of blood and the inky blackness that made up his body. She looked at it with mingling disgust and interest. It coated her hand.
She looked up then to meet his eyes. He was still massaging her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple through the thin fabric of her shirt. “Master,” he repeated softly.
“Yes?” Her heart was pounding in her ears.
He rose to his feet, suddenly towering over her. He seemed fully clothed again, coat and all. He produced a handkerchief and took her hand, wiping away the odd substance.
“It seems I’ve made a mess,” he said, humor lacing his voice. His face was very close to hers. What frightened her was that she wanted to pull him closer. What frightened her was the need that’d built up inside her.
Integra broke away, backing away slowly. “I… I have work to do.” She turned and hurried out, his laughter echoing after her.