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Thirty years is enough time for people to change.

Little changes in the Hellsing Organization. They interview, train, and prepare new soldiers to take the positions of those who were slain in combat. They fill out their ranks once more, they repair their buildings, and they build new relationships with those in power who the relationships must be built with. Time passes, but their status as one of the most loyal and reliable allies to the Queen does not lessen. It only grows.

Seras smiles more, and Walter smiles less. Generally, they get along just fine.

There is a hushed silence that falls over their main headquarters when night falls, bated breath held as they all wait to see if their missing companion will finally return home to them. Integra tells herself not to worry about it so much, not to spare so much time thinking about it that for the first five years, it keeps her up at night. She waits to see the familiar shadows spreading across her walls, her floor. Years to hear the familiar voice deeper than the pits of hell call out to her once more to let her know he has returned.

Thirty years of waiting. Seras and Walter claim they can sense him still, through the bond they share with their master and one Integra does not fully understand, and may never. Vampires are the main prey of the Hellsing Organization, and overall that does not change. She just continues to feel like she might not understand them very well.

Sometimes, Seras and Walter look at each other, and she thinks they must be speaking in a language overall too difficult for her to learn in a single human lifetime.

They are down a vampire and up a vampire, and it evens out just fine. Seras and Walter are not… Not him, and certainly never will be while lacking the life experience and combat knowledge of someone so ancient, but they do the job more than well enough. Integra keeps them fed and healthy, and they remain loyal to her as they have always been.

And if it brings her some comfort to know that she can keep them both, that she can keep Walter who would have reached the natural end of his lifespan sooner rather than later, so be it. He would not have lived to see the next thirty years on his own.

Walter brings her tea and they do not talk about his shifting appearance from fourteen to seventy. Seras teaches the new recruits how to hold their rifles and to stand tall in the face of an enemy. Integra practices her swordsmanship so that she never grows rusty with a blade and pays a visit to Alucard’s coffin every night, a way of saying goodnight.

All they can do is wait for Alucard to come in out of the cold, wherever he may be.

All they can do is ensure that home is waiting for him when he does decide to return, no matter when that will be. Another ten years, another twenty, another hundred.

Even if Integra will not be here to greet him, she will ensure that Seras and Walter are.


Alucard is an enigma at the best of times, and has been ever since Integra first met him as a child. His behavior in a good mood is unpredictable at best, and in a foul mood… She tends to be glad to have work for him to do when those moods arise. Someone who has lived as long as he is, who has the abilities he has, who stands above humanity in a way that no other being ever has or ever will, explains his penchant for his eccentric behavior.

It has never mattered overall much. He obeys her words and prostrates himself before her, sometimes a loyal servant and sometimes closer to a playful, overly large puppy dog who expects head pats in return for a particularly well done job. Integra acquiesces when he seems to want more, and he never seems anything less than satisfied with his lot in life. She never asks him to get on his hands and knees for her. He chooses that himself.

So when he finally does steal back into her bedroom in the dead of the night, wrapped in inky black shadows with far more mass than any natural darkness, Integra expects him to be strange. To speak of odd things. Relieved to have him back in the Hellsing Organization where he belongs, whether that means returning with a godlike gift or not. He’s home.

He’s home, but the body he saunters around the building in does not match the two she has become the most accustomed with seeing him in. And it irks her.

“I think it’s a game to him, Mistress,” Walter tells her once apropos of nothing, pouring her a fresh cup of tea. Heavy black bangs falling into lava-like crimson eyes that suit him far too well. “One can never be sure what Alucard is planning or thinking or, and sometimes he seems to do things only because he wants to do them, but I think it is a game.”

“What could he be hoping to accomplish with this?” Integra watches the steam waft from the top of the cup, well-aware that Alucard himself might be listening to them.

He never was one for personal privacy or personal space. He’s always been far too close.

To this, Walter only shrugs. He straightens, holding the silver platter in his hand flat against the front of his body. Young, today, and it strikes her that he seems to prefer that form far more often than she thought he might. “I couldn’t tell you the answer to that question. Only he could, but he doesn’t seem to want to provide answers.”

“I wonder if it’s because…” Integra trails off, then stops herself from continuing despite the way her butler tilts his head toward her, openly curious. “Never mind. I’m sure he’ll tell me when he wants to, or perhaps he never will. Has it affected his performance?”

“Not at all. He’s just as efficient as ever.” Neither of them point out that Alucard has been more efficient, because he can be anywhere or everywhere he wants to be.

But it means that he is… Immortal, alive, safe. No longer under threat of being killed.

“Then I suppose it isn’t much of a problem for us to worry about. The nuns don’t seem overly concerned about it anywhere when they encounter him.” And Integra snorts softly into her tea, because of course the Iscariot are still as big of a pain as ever.

She has a meeting with them next week, but it never feels like a conversation and only like a silent, looming challenge from one side to the other. The women stare silently across the room at her own bodyguards and Makube seems positively perturbed by Alucard’s new penchant for perching on Integra’s lap whenever he gets the chance to do so. None of them mention the elephant in the room, and perhaps when the Iscariot are ready to launch another fruitless attack, it might make some of them stumble to see a child.

“They were children too, once. I imagine they started their training very young to become so adept at relatively young ages.” Walter smiles politely at her, but his eyes burn in a way that all vampires do once they’ve taken their first proper life.

Integra tries to imagine that. Even she was a child once. “The only two people who would have that information readily available are long dead, and they don’t seem the types to make pleasant talk these days. I believe I have a meeting this afternoon?”

She and Walter discuss the upcoming meeting— moved to tomorrow at the request of her guest, much to Integra’s relief— and the rest of the week. He keeps track of things for her as he always does and, when the time comes, steps out onto the battlefield at her request. She never needs to worry about losing him, so that means he can be a little free to stretch his wings and his threads until his heart is content. Better than keeping him locked away in the house where he had clearly longed for something more in life.

To the best of her abilities, Integra continues to take care of her people.

The sound of soft footsteps halts their words; Integra drains the rest of her cup and glances toward the door just in time to see a small, petite form appear in front of her. One pale hand comes to rest on the doorframe, slender body leaning against the wood. Fire eyes gaze across the wide distance between them, half-obscured by the sable curls that tumble down the delicate forehead. She had always thought of Alucard as beautiful, as otherworldly, as lovely in a way that humans simply were not and could never be. A monster perhaps, but still gorgeous in a way that mortality could never hope to touch.

This is different. Integra has no idea how she feels about the way he looks now.

Walter notices first. He stiffens next to her, and Integra curses herself for not noticing the distinct choice Alucard has made to befuddle them all today. He so often favored the same outfits, colors, and fabrics that Integra stopped noticing what he wore, but he has made absolutely certain that there is no way to avoid the inevitable today.

“Master,” he greets her. She has seen him change forms before to his feminine form, but his voice never shifted with it. It shifts now, higher-pitched and gentler, sweeter and more innocent as if he is not still the vampire she has known most of her life.

“Alucard.” Integra folds her hands on the desk in front of her, elbows resting on the polished top. “Is there something I can do for you this afternoon?”

Walter shifts next to her. Despite the shifting age difference he seems to play with like some women play with their hair, he always dresses properly for her. White button-down, black or grey pants, black or grey vest atop that, a tie to compliment all of it. Pressed and perfect, always standing at attention, with his shoes shined and a patient, waiting smile ready for her. He never needs his glasses these days, his eyes perfected with his vampire blood, and Integra can almost pretend that things have not changed in some way.

It is easy to play pretend, but Alucard makes that impossible. It must be a game to him.

He sighs at her, head thumping softly against the doorframe. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” She could turn him away and he would not be able to enter the room, and they both know it. But he asks because he wants her permission, her word, and she gives it.

The outfit is simple. The white button-down with the black bow tied neatly under the collar tucked into the black skirt that swishes quietly around his knees with every step. She can see the white stockings beneath trail all the way down into black-shined shoes, cute ones with small silver buckles. Everything about this is innocent and yet not, and the small pull at the corner of his mouth tells her that he knows what he’s doing to her.

He stops in front of her desk, and when he turns his attention to Walter, it’s with a warm smile that Walter returns after a beat. “Apologies if I was interrupting.”

“We’d just finished what we needed to talk about. You weren’t.” Integra nudges her cup toward Walter, and he sets it and the teapot back onto his tray. “You’re excused, Walter. If there is anything pertinent to tell me, let me know. Close the door on your way out.”

Walter’s eyes flash at her for just a moment, but he offers her only a polite smile and bows his head as deeply as he can without tipping the tray. “Yes, Mistress.”

He leaves them in silence, the click of the door the only noise for a long, still moment.

Integra leans back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. This is a dangerous game that Alucard wants to play, and yet she still wonders why he chooses this body to play the game in. He never came to her like this in his former form, or in his female form. He never tried to tempt her, to push her. He might have spoken illicit things to her, might have used hush voices to make suggestions, but this is far more overt than any of that ever was.

“Come here,” she instructs, and Alucard cocks his head at her, all childish innocence that he does not possess. “Around the desk and sit on the top of it.”

His eyes widen slightly before he smiles. Every step is carefully calculated from the way the skirt swings to and fro, brushing softly against the stockings beneath. Integra ignores the slight hot burn in her gut, because she has spent decades ignoring these urges just in case a vampire ever slipped too close or bypassed her defenses. She needed to know that no matter what happened, there was no chance of her becoming a ghoul.

Hellsing— and the country— come first. It was easy to ignore up until this little game.

“You seem displeased, Master.” Alucard hops up onto her desk with grace and ease, and Integra averts her gaze when the skirt flutters around his legs. He settles into place easily, though, one foot resting atop her thigh as he looks at her. “Have I said something?”

“You know what you’ve done. I don’t know why you pretend you don’t.” Integra wraps her hand around his ankle. The bones are thin and delicate through the stocking, and his skin is surprisingly warm. She can’t recall having touched him all that much, though.

Alucard smiles at her, and his teeth are sharp. Not a threat, though. “I like this form.”

“Was this the age you were at when it happened?” She keeps her voice low and steady, and she sees the displeased flicker in his eye to have the reminder brought to his attention. “I thought that might be it. You can take whatever form you wish as long as you do your job, but if there is something more I am supposed to know… You’ll have to tell me.”

Walter told her, once, about Alucard prancing around headquarters in his female form for weeks on end. He had wanted attention, but no one quite knew what attention he wanted, and he seemed amused just to leave everyone around him befuddled and mildly upset. This is different; Alucard has certainly pranced, but Integra can tell that he wants something specifically from her. Why else come to her office dressed like this, if not for attention?

She rubs a circle into his ankle with the pad of her thumb, callused from her lessons. “If there is, perhaps… Something you feel as though you need from me.”

Alucard sighs, leaning back slightly and bracing his hands on the desk behind him. The shirt, she realizes, is thin enough that the right lighting might reveal the shape of his body beneath the material. “Perhaps I just want you to look at me.”

“I always look at you when you’re near.” Far too much for either of their comfort, she supposes, but Alucard is hard to ignore. He takes up all the space in the world or none at all, and now he vanishes in and out of sight like the flickering flame of a lit candle.

“Do you like this form?” Alucard smirks at her, and it seems so wrong on a child’s young face. “You never looked at me like this before. You look… Hungry for something, Master.”

Integra narrows her eye at him. The skirt lies across the tops of his knees, and she wonders what he might be wearing underneath it for a brief moment. “You and I both know there’s nothing that’s going to occur here, Alucard. And you know why, as well.”

“Does it matter? We know how Milennium bypassed certain restrictions when creating their vampires, and they did just fine.” Weak for his tastes, she knows, but Alucard’s fledglings are far more powerful than anything the Nazis could have fabricated. He creates them with his own blood, his own power, and who knows how much stronger that blood is now? “Why do you have to continue to deny yourself what you want?”

What she wants is forbidden. It has been since she was a child, learning to keep her chastity if only to prevent becoming a ghoul. Learning how to keep her mind from drifting too far, or at least until night fell and she could work out the frustration in the privacy of her own bedroom. It never is quite what she wants, but it has to suit her for now.

Until she dies a natural, human death. At least she has made provisions to keep her vampires safe even after that, so that they never need fear their own extinction.

Alucard runs the bottom of his shoe up her thigh, and Integra stills. “I try and try and still you only look at me, and never quite the way I wish you would. Why is that?”

“Why do you ask me questions you already know the answer to?” Even if she could take what she wants, even if she had that option available to her… Alucard cannot give her that. Alucard is her servant, her most loyal, and she already takes enough from him. She is not even sure if he wants it for himself, or if he merely wants to give it to her because he thinks he should. “People will talk, you know, if you continue to dress like this.”

His eyes meet hers, a silent challenge, and the way he giggles makes the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end. “Why should I care? They already talk about me. They already talk, when I show up after thirty years. Why does it matter if I’m not the way they expect, or the way they remember? Everyone is always talking about me.”

They are. Nosy bastards. “And you like the attention. I imagine you bask in it.”

“From time to time. It can be pleasant.” Alucard shifts on the desk; the skirt rides up on his thighs, and Integra swallows slowly. “If I told you I did want something specific, would you finally give it to me? Or are you going to deny me the way you deny yourself?”

Integra exhales. She should have expected this question from him. “If you ask me because you genuinely need or want something, then I will consider it.”

“You’re growing sentimental. Are you attached now?” His smile widens, but there is genuine warmth in his eyes that burns in her chest. Of course she is; of course he is. She has asked about her father, her grandfather, but Alucard was largely disinterested in all of them and she thinks the bond she has with him is what he considers to be special.

“Are you?” And his smile only widens. “What is it that you want from me?”

He quiets down. Tips his head back, and she eyes the long, pale stretch of his narrow throat. “I told you once what happened, didn’t I? But just once. You were fourteen years old, and you had asked me what my childhood was like. What answer did you expect?”

Not the one she received. Not the one she probably should have, if she had been smart enough to think through the implications of when he lived, and what the era was like. Integra does not answer him. Her hand clips up the curve of his calf, feeling the plush skin through the thin fabric of the stocking. Everything about this body is so delicate; it is far too easy to imagine rougher, larger hands manhandling him. Bruising delicate pale skin, twisting slim limbs into the appropriate or desired positions. It makes her nauseous.

Integra has seen Alucard stabbed and pierced and shot and ripped to pieces, seen him fade to nothingness in front of her. But that thought makes her stomach roil.

Her hand reaches the bend of his knee, and Alucard sighs softly. “What is it you want?”

He moves so suddenly that she doesn’t expect it, half-shadow and half-boy, spilling into her lap, with his arms draped around her shoulders. His weight is warm across her thighs but entirely too close and soft, and it makes her forget for half a moment that this is Alucard sitting so close to her. Looking up at her with inhuman eyes, with teeth too sharp to belong in such a small, fragile mouth. Her hand moves without her permission, pressing into the curve of his back, holding him aloft right where he sits.

This is dangerous, and she knows it, and yet she lets him do as he pleases.

“A fonder memory, perhaps.” Alucard leans closer to her, narrow chest pressed up against hers, his eyes trained on her face. “The one thing I do not have in my possession.”

Integra closes her eye. Takes a deep breath. “You always want to play with fire. Is that all you want, then? And it just so happens to be something that compromises the singular thing I cannot give you. You always have to push for more and more.”

“I want everything.” His face touches the front of her throat, and she stills once more. “Everything you are willing to give me. You can always say no, Master.”

She can. She should. And she knew the moment he told her that she wouldn’t do it.

His weight is feather light in her arms when she stands and dumps him back down onto the desk, needlessly mindful of how she sets him down on it, how hard he hits the surface. The skirt flies up around his thighs as he wiggles into place, grinning up at her, fierce and excited and entirely too pretty, too sweet-faced for a centuries old vampire. She gets her answer, one way or another; there are panties beneath the skirt, white lace and satin.

“You dressed yourself?” She rips a glove off with her teeth, spitting it onto the floor and cupping her hand around his smooth, pale thigh. His skin is flawless beneath hers and it’s easy to forget that something horrible and painful once happened to him.

Alucard breathes out, the sound skittery with anticipation as he openly spreads his legs wider for her. “I thought you’d like it, and I was right. I can tell that you like it.”

Of course she does. Of course she does, but she would have liked him in almost anything because her feelings for Alucard are complex, confusing, intricate and so simple. “Dress how you please, I don’t care one way or another. But nobody else sees this.”

“Never, Master.” And he arches for her, like a kitten begging to be stroked.

Integra’s pulse picks up. Her breathing is harsh through her nose as she strokes her fingertips up his thighs, then cups her palm against the soft pillow of his covered cock. It’s small against her hand and her gut clenches fiercely at touching him like this. Finally touching him like this, rolling her hand against him just to watch him squirm on her desk. The faintest hint of pink dances along the highest arch of his cheekbones; she didn’t even know he was capable of blushing like that. She never thought he would be.

It might be another show for her. It’s a good one, because it looks nice on his face. “This is all you’re getting while you’re down in my office. If you want more… Come to bed.”

“This is enough for now.” Alucard practically purrs as he bucks his hips toward her hand, rutting his covered cock against her skin. She can feel him hardening under her touch and presses her fingers more firmly against him, the twitch and throb catching her attention.

She tried not to think about what needs he might have despite how many lewd things he’d crowed to her. Now she thinks he must have had marvelous control to wait so long.

Her body folds over the top of the desk, over the top of his shuddering little body so she can kiss him. His lips soften against hers and then open, hot little tongue pressed against the seam of her mouth as grasping hands tangle in her suit jacket. Integra curls an arm under his head, around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his soft dark hair as she finally, finally gives into the urge to kiss him. The heat that’s simmered between the two of them bubbles now, threatening to boil over and spill everywhere between them.

If it’s Alucard, she supposes she doesn’t mind suffering a few serious burns.

“Are you going to be good for me?” Her voice comes out in a husky purr, words hushed against his lips as she rubs her hand against his cock. The heat of his skin is so tempting and she could push aside the lace, but the rough texture against her palm is… Exciting.

Integra has never dared to do this with anyone, and that it’s Alucard…

“Yes, Master, yes.” He presses his face against her throat and she lets him, mindful that he could rip her open at any moment and that he won’t. “Please just… Please don’t stop…”

Begging her. She nuzzles down into his dark hair and lets him curl closer to her, fingers digging into the plump flesh under her hand. When was the last time he let anyone touch him like this? She has no idea. Doesn’t want to think about it. All that matters is the two of them twined together like this, tied together, tangled up so much that Integra doesn’t know where she ends and Alucard begins, and it should have always been this way.

Her fingers wander down, over the tuck of his balls and lower, pressing against the satin and digging it into his skin. His breath trips and hitches and he moans, he moans against her throat. His lips vibrate against her flesh and she thinks that if he asked, right now, curled into her and clinging to her, shaking and rutting against her hand, she might let him bite her. Might let him dig his teeth in, because he wouldn’t kill her.

“Such a good boy.” Her voice is unfamiliar to her own ears, darker and deeper, and Alucard whines against her, presses up against the front of her body, hips rolling down against her hand. Searching for friction and pressure that she gladly gives him.

“I want to be.” He pants against her and then licks her throat, and her eyes widen slightly. Heat spikes in her gut. “I want to be, Master. I want to be good for you.”

“You always are.” Her fingers press harder, deeper, and she feels the gathered pucker of his hole beneath the lace. Imagines pushing it aside and then does, rubbing over the twitching rim. He’s hot here, burning up. He must be like fire inside.

Alucard tenses up under her entirely and Integra kisses the top of his head, hushing him softly and squeezing his shoulders. Huddling him closer to her body. Not yet, then. Instead, she just rubs her fingers there, rocking her palm against his little cock, listening to his shaky breath stutter back into soft moans and sighs. Ah, there he is.

“Not yet,” she reassures him, and he mouths at the front of her throat. Just lips, no teeth. “Maybe when you want to do it, but not now. Just this. Only this.”

Just the tease of more, just her fingers pressing against his perineum, rolling over it until Alucard arches against her with a soundless sob. Sensitive, she thinks, or maybe he’s doing it on purpose, pushing his nerve endings to the limit because he wants this so badly. Wants to bask in this moment, to have this memory, and who is she to deny him?

He can have as many as he wants. They have the technology; he’s right about that. And she has him, and whatever he is, whoever he is, to ensure that no harm comes to her.

“Just like that,” she praises him when he ruts his cock up against her hand, careful to keep her fingers from pressing dry inside of him. “Just like that, Alucard, good boy.”

Her good boy. Her pet, her servant, the vicious dog who curls up by her feet and lifts his head only for her to stroke him. Hers and only hers, because he will never obey anyone else, will never look at anyone else, the way that he looks up at her.

Alucard belongs to her and with her and nothing is ever going to change that.

She presses her hand beneath the panties entirely. Wraps her fingers around the hot swell of his small cock and strokes him. It makes his entire body jerk up against hers, makes him shudder and groan, teeth scraping but not biting down. Always in control, always her perfect little pet, just the way he should be. Just the way he was made to be.

Fate might not be real. Destiny might be a farce. But Integra has stretched her hands into the dark chaos of the cosmos and ripped Alucard out of it and taken him for herself, and she has no intentions of letting him go, or letting anyone take him from her, ever again.

“Master!” It’s a half-shout in a sweet, debauched voice that she doesn’t know nearly as well and yet it sinks its claws into her, visceral and primal, and she groans her satisfaction into his hair as she strokes him faster in her rough hand. Just for her, just for her.

If there is a past behind him, if there are other lovers in the years gone past, none of them matter now. All that matters is this, Alucard shuddering and jolting against her, hot and sticky against her hand, clawing at her shoulders without hurting her though he could. A wild beast tamed under her touch and only her touch. Because he belongs to her.

She lets him catch his breath and then slumps back into her chair, hand slick with his come resting on top of her thigh as she watches him heave. The white lace looks stark against his flushed pink skin, the waistband biting into his heaving belly. A devil dressed up like an angel only to beg to be brought to ruin and damnation once again.

“My room, tonight,” she offers, and Alucard pushes himself up on his elbows, looking at her with eyes gone sun-bright with delight. “If you want more and only if you want more.”

He flashes her a smile, all sharp, brilliant teeth. “I want what you give me, Master.”