Captive Audience
folder
Hellsing › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
3,333
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Hellsing › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
3,333
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Hellsing, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Wicked Whispers
DISCLAIMERS: "Hellsing" is owned by Kouta Hirano. I'm just writing this for fun.
-----
Cold lips slide along the column of the priest's throat. Anderson sucks in a quick breath and swallows convulsively. Again he tests the shadowy bonds holding him in place. Sharp fangs scrape over his skin, both teasing and threatening.
"Vampire," he says in a warning tone, to which the applicable party of that particular term only chuckles. This game between them has played out in so many different ways but all of them violent. Anderson tenses and squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for whatever the vampire has planned next.
Nibbling at Anderson's neck, Alucard savours the taste of the priest's skin. Fear adds spice to the heady mixture of smoke, blood and sweat. Each thunderous beat of Anderson's heart seems to echo through the vampire like a siren call, urging him to tear out the man's throat and feast upon his blood until sated.
Shock galvanizes the priest at the first touch of Alucard's bare hand upon his chest. Again the vampire's skin is cold, cool and smooth. Anderson didn't think the vampire could remove the gloves bearing the seals of his bondage to the Hellsing family. "Whit-" he begins only to cut himself off with a sharp gasp as Alucard's fingers unerringly find a nipple, the combination of chill flesh and a skillful pinch bringing it to a sensitive peak.
Alucard explores his enemy's body, tasting and touching each inch of skin revealed. He kisses the pulse thrumming in the hollow of Anderson's throat. He nuzzles the hair-roughened planes of Anderson's chest. He flicks his tongue across Anderson's nipples. He follows the fine trail of hair down Anderson's stomach.
Anderson's blood turns to liquid fire. Some distant part of his mind realises that this shouldn't be happening. He shouldn't be captive to an insane vampire. He shouldn't be panting at that insane vampire's every touch. He shouldn't yearn for more.
Cupping the priest with one hand, Alucard massages the hard flesh still trapped within Anderson's trousers. The man gasps then moans, an unconscious sound. His body betrays him in its need, back arching then hips jerking to thrust himself against the vampire's hand. Still held prisoner, his hands flex and claw at the air.
"I know what you want, Assassin." The dark whisper against Anderson's ear is full of promise. Cool hands still rove across the priest's body, enflaming forbidden desire. Nimble fingers, a few quick tugs and then his trousers and shorts are pooled about his ankles. Anderson's world is spinning out of control, his only anchor being the damned creature he hates and needs. No words come from his lips, only a choked sound as a cold hand closes around his rigid length.
More whispers in the stygian shadows. Promises of wicked pleasure. The individual words might be lost to the paladin's conscious mind, but he hears them and responds just the same. Anderson's body is wound taut as the strings of a violin and Alucard plays him like a master musician. It seems as if the gasps and moans belong to another man, the thunder of his heartbeat and the vampire's sibilant voice drowning out the priest's own muted cries.
-----
Cold lips slide along the column of the priest's throat. Anderson sucks in a quick breath and swallows convulsively. Again he tests the shadowy bonds holding him in place. Sharp fangs scrape over his skin, both teasing and threatening.
"Vampire," he says in a warning tone, to which the applicable party of that particular term only chuckles. This game between them has played out in so many different ways but all of them violent. Anderson tenses and squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for whatever the vampire has planned next.
Nibbling at Anderson's neck, Alucard savours the taste of the priest's skin. Fear adds spice to the heady mixture of smoke, blood and sweat. Each thunderous beat of Anderson's heart seems to echo through the vampire like a siren call, urging him to tear out the man's throat and feast upon his blood until sated.
Shock galvanizes the priest at the first touch of Alucard's bare hand upon his chest. Again the vampire's skin is cold, cool and smooth. Anderson didn't think the vampire could remove the gloves bearing the seals of his bondage to the Hellsing family. "Whit-" he begins only to cut himself off with a sharp gasp as Alucard's fingers unerringly find a nipple, the combination of chill flesh and a skillful pinch bringing it to a sensitive peak.
Alucard explores his enemy's body, tasting and touching each inch of skin revealed. He kisses the pulse thrumming in the hollow of Anderson's throat. He nuzzles the hair-roughened planes of Anderson's chest. He flicks his tongue across Anderson's nipples. He follows the fine trail of hair down Anderson's stomach.
Anderson's blood turns to liquid fire. Some distant part of his mind realises that this shouldn't be happening. He shouldn't be captive to an insane vampire. He shouldn't be panting at that insane vampire's every touch. He shouldn't yearn for more.
Cupping the priest with one hand, Alucard massages the hard flesh still trapped within Anderson's trousers. The man gasps then moans, an unconscious sound. His body betrays him in its need, back arching then hips jerking to thrust himself against the vampire's hand. Still held prisoner, his hands flex and claw at the air.
"I know what you want, Assassin." The dark whisper against Anderson's ear is full of promise. Cool hands still rove across the priest's body, enflaming forbidden desire. Nimble fingers, a few quick tugs and then his trousers and shorts are pooled about his ankles. Anderson's world is spinning out of control, his only anchor being the damned creature he hates and needs. No words come from his lips, only a choked sound as a cold hand closes around his rigid length.
More whispers in the stygian shadows. Promises of wicked pleasure. The individual words might be lost to the paladin's conscious mind, but he hears them and responds just the same. Anderson's body is wound taut as the strings of a violin and Alucard plays him like a master musician. It seems as if the gasps and moans belong to another man, the thunder of his heartbeat and the vampire's sibilant voice drowning out the priest's own muted cries.