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Sypha is so hot.
Wait. Not in that sense of the word. Well, actually... additionally, in that sense of the word, yes–
Sypha is hot in more ways than one, is the thing. The wild, unpredictable, destructive fire that she can bring into existence with a wave of her hands and a determined set of her eyebrows: that’s hot, scalding, suffocating. Her fiery red hair, being tossed every which way by the vibrations of energy when she casts, the pulse of the spell making it burst like a flame, the way it lights up incandescently when the sunlight hits it just from the right angle, the way it curls on her face and feels under Trevor’s fingertips, alive, intrepid. Her fury, icy like the walls she can lift into existence but, too, burning, fiery and violent like the Reaping that’s spoken about at length in texts of faith.
And her skin, deliciously tanned and freckled by hours of travel under the sun, flushing red when Trevor whispers in her ear just right– the skin of her waist feels scalding hot under Trevor’s hands where he’s grabbing onto her like a vice– and she’s letting him, allowing him to sink his claws in the tender muscle and fat of her stomach, leaving marks for her to tch and scoff at, later. Later, when she’s not moaning at the force to be reckoned that is Trevor’s own internal fire, the fire in his chest that she sets alight, and this... this is a pleasant warmth, too.
Trevor catches a glimpse of hair, of flushed skin, of the bright orange light of the oil lamp Sypha lit up for them in their crammed room early in the night; and she’s fire, fire, fire, and it’s making him feel hot all over. Then again, he might be exaggerating, and what’s making him feel hot all over is the fact he’s got his cock inside Sypha and she’s moaning in his ear with every thrust of his hips and every grunt from his throat.
Yeah, maybe that’s got something to do with it.
He holds on tighter, tighter, to the skin of her waist, that bends under the pads of his fingers, and he quickens his pace, seeking to find the right angle in their less-than-ideal position. He trusts his own abilities to find the place inside her that is gonna have her clawing at his back and yelling his name with urgency just fine, if he’s got her on her back and displayed on a surface like a meal waiting to be enjoyed, but on the days Sypha wants to place her knees on both sides of his torso and tower over him as she impales herself on his good bits, it becomes a bit more complicated for him.
No matter, she’s having one hell of a time, going to town on him, doing her fair share of seeking the aforementioned spot with every roll of her hips as she grabs heaps of Trevor’s pecs for support, but she must be doing a better job than him at it, because one particular hop on his dick and she’s shuddering, mumbling nonsense under her breath. Trevor follows it like a hound on a trail and she keens, tightening up around him and biting her lip forcefully enough to sting.
“ Trevor ” she whines, and she’s been doing her fair share of that, whining and saying his name and whining his name, for the better part of the night, but this is different. Her tone carries a note of petulance, like a child asking for candy. “Tell me, Trevor, Trevor–”
“Right, yes” And he indulges, diligently, like a parent that’s forgot themselves. He quite forgot he was supposed to be talking, what between one thing and another. Like the physical manifestation of wildfire walking amongst humans fucking the shit out of him. “He’d... he’d be watching”
“Be descriptive” Sypha helpfully encourages.
Trevor tries to find his imagination. He tries to picture it. “The chair against the window. He’d sit there, lounge like the posh bastard he is–”
“Boots off–”
“Boots off, coat off, gloves on ” he remarks with a grin on his face that grows wider when she moans at that. Something about the gloves drives her crazy. “Legs crossed. This bored expression on his face, like he’s at mass” Trevor says, feeling blood rush away from his had to places where it’s more needed, as he thinks of a heated golden gaze, golden locks in the orange light of the oil lamp, looking like a sunset. “But he’s talking. In that fucking voice of his–”
“Oh, yes ” Sypha agrees, enthusiastically, and her hands leave his chest to steady herself on his thighs behind her back, as she brings her hips down with more force on his cock. “That deep voice of his–”
“Sounding like royalty–”
“Telling you–”
“If that’s the best I can do” Trevor gasps, strained, feeling Sypha’s walls choke his aching cock, and then he makes an effort to bring his voice down a couple tones, smoother than he usually sounds, and forces out an accent. “ If you’re not gonna fuck her proper, Belmont, I can happily take over ”
Sypha makes a noise that’s half a gasp and half a giggle. “And? Are you gonna let him talk you down like that, big boy?”
“I shan’t” Trevor admits. “But the idea of him snatching you off to finish the job himself is really very tantalizing”
As he says this, however, he rises into a seating position with a heave (he’s really getting too old for this) and he digs his big hands into the supple shape of Sypha’s ass, bringing her forcefully down where she’s impaled on his cock as he thrusts up like he means it, and he sets a rhythm where he’s bringing her down in time with his thrusts, manic and vicious like he’s trying to prove something. And maybe he is, where in his mind’s eye, he can see a fanged shit-eating smile.
Sypha seeks for purchase in his hair, digging her fingers into the strands and pulling harsh enough for his scalp to hurt with the violence. She laughs breathlessly in a cackle that ends in a long moan, stuttered only by his thrusts into her. “ Fuck, fuck, Trevor , keep talking, don’t stop–”
“How’s this for a proper fuck, you bastard?” Trevor growls to particularly nobody in the room with them right now. But in his mind’s eye, the smile stutters before growing into a positively hungry grin. “He’d argument, we should ask the receiving end of this whole ordeal, really, and I find myself– fuck, mind the nails, Sypha– I find myself agreeing. So he’d ask you–”
Sypha digs her nails deeper into the skin of his shoulders, as she bites down on the juncture of his jaw like she’s paying him back for at least five grievances, and then some. ”Yes, what would he ask me?”
“ How is it, Sypha?”
“ Fuck, so good, so good– he’s crazy good, Alucard, it’s hitting me right in my– mmph!”
“Say his name, Sypha. Fuck, he’d ask you to say his name again, leaning forward now, clearly interested, looking at us like he’s trying to eat us, those golden eyes – ”
Sypha complies eagerly, and her voice is thread-thin in the way Trevor knows it gets when she’s close, so close. “Alucard, Alucard, Alucardalucard– fuckfuckfuck, Trevor, I’m–! Oh, oh–!”
The muscles of her pussy tighten so hermetically around him, Trevor thinks for a second he’s about to be left infertile, but all that really happens is that he has to breath in very deep to keep from exploding inside her and ruining the fun so early on, especially with her hands in his hair still pulling at it, and her breasts practically smushing his face as she keens and shudders against him, spent.
As Sypha comes down from her high and Trevor thinks very hard of anything else that’s not the vice grip on his cock, he wonders what the fuck his life is.
For all of Trevor’s widely alleged and somewhat true sexual experience, sex has never been something he particularly seeks to do, or tremendously enjoys doing, or has a fun time while doing. It was mostly happening when he was wasted out of his mind, with very bold ladies and very loud lads he’d definitely never stumble upon again, on this his life on Earth, something he did because it seemed like the right thing to do, at the moment, because he was bored, because he had rocks to kick and voices in his head to silence. What else is there to do when one’s wasted, other than piss and barf and maybe start some fights over one’s legacy and stained last name?
Sypha is different. Whatever too-close-to-family complicated relationships are happening at the Speakers tribe are none of his business, but he found out early on that Sypha’s sexual prowess only rivaled his own.
The thing is, Sypha has a blast having sex. She laughs, and giggles, and her curly fiery hair bounces and she sweats deliciously and her lips curl in a grin tantalizingly more or less the entire time they’re in bed. She touches Trevor like she enjoys his body– his scarred, too big, too hurt body, a concept entirely alien to him, and her eyes rake over him like she’s won a prize– a scarred, too big, too hurt prize–
She pulls him close and mutters some tender nonsense in her mother tongue, in more quite nights, when he’s holding her warmth so close his heart feels like it’s going to leap out of his chest and explode outside his body, and she’s holding him back like he’s the only thing keeping her bound to the Earth.
She has all these ideas, and where Trevor is impulsive, Sypha is bold, so the first time they were fucking like rabbits and Sypha brought up she had a husband at home waiting for her, Trevor had scrunched up his face in confusion before she said I don’t actually, wipe that frown off your face, but what if I did? Wouldn’t this be– so wrong? and then Trevor had blinked and nodded and proceeded to tell her she was a very bad girl for what she was doing too her poor imaginary husband, with the likes of a Belmont no less, and this had brought her over the edge so quickly that Trevor decided, then and there– oh, who is he kidding? He decided he wasn’t going to say no to anything Sypha asked a long time ago.
And then, one of the nights they spent on Lindenfeld before everything went to shit, Trevor had been having himself a nice meal between her legs when she suddenly asked, “Do you ever wonder what Alucard is doing right now?”
Trevor had looked up at her through his own eyelashes and the mat of red pubes in his way. “Sypha. Can we not talk about the bastard when we’re doing this ?”
“I am delighted by what we’re doing, of course, clearly” She waved a hand at his chin glistening with slick, and he wiped it with the back of his hand. “It’s just– that whole ordeal with Dracula today, it’s got me thinking of him”
Trevor understood. He had, maybe, dedicated him half a thought at the moment, as well. “I’m sure the little prince is having himself a fancy dinner and a glass of wine at the moment, drawing maps of the galaxy or something equally obnoxious”
Sypha had grinned at him. “You talk about him like he’s royalty or something”
Trevor had felt the back of his neck heat up, and Sypha could definitely feel it through the legs wrapped around his shoulders. “Well, his dad is– was a Count. That makes him... something , right?”
“Alright, Treffy, no one wants to hear about your little Consort fantasies” Trevor bit the inside of her thigh and she yelped. “I am as serious as the risen dead! Do you think he’s lonely? Maybe he’s already repopulated the castle. Do you think he’s idle, or incredibly busy? Mourning, or found purpose anew?”
“Decent, or running around his house castle with his tits out because why bother with clothes–”
At this, Sypha’s thighs twitched in a way that was telltale for the way she squeezed them when something made her belly tingle. Trevor felt them in his ears, given his current position, and felt the way Sypha stuttered and stopped them from closing all the way. He caught her eyes, bright liquid sky in them, and they were burning with an intensity only characteristic of her and her own passion, her own fervor. If Trevor was to see ice set on flames in his life, he was as certain as he was that the Sun rose on the west, it would be by Sypha’s hand.
“Sypha” Trevor whispered, and the way her naked chest heaved had blood rushing to the southernmost parts of his body.
Carefully, slowly, but boldly, she asked, “Trevor, what do you think he’d do if he was here right now?”
Trevor held Sypha’s scalding gaze for a few moments, in his own watery pupils, perpetually hardened as solid diamond by the determination that coursed through his veins. The determination to live, and to die, and to do good, and to love. And through his mind’s eye flashed a pair of golden eyes, so distant and so inscrutable, and thick and sweet like honey.
“What he would do... if he was here... right now?” he spoke slowly, touching up Sypha’s thighs with his strong, tanned hands, squeezing his way to her knees and going back the way he came. “If Alucard walked through that door– right now? And he saw us like this?”
Sypha exhaled shakily, putting her hands over his and squeezing. Don’t stop. “Yes. Tell me”
“If he walked in... and saw me doing this?” He lapped up lightly at Sypha’s pussy, feeling it soaking wet against his tongue, and she gasped.
“ Yes, Trevor – ” she urged him on, sounding incredibly turned on as well as exasperated.
“I think... he’d like it” he said, finally, intertwining his fingers between Sypha’s. “Hard to imagine him not liking it– not dying to be in my place”
“Or in mine” Sypha considered softly, and Trevor’s cock jolted with interest, still trapped in his trousers.
Despite his... rather enthusiastic physical reaction, Trevor was nothing if not a realistic man. “He’s always wanted you, Sypha. Hard to blame him”
“He looked at you all the time, when he thought you weren’t looking– and you weren’t, but I was–”
“So he’s looking at both of us, and what?”
Sypha had inhaled minutely through her mouth, and told him to use his imagination.
So, this is how they’re here now. Trevor should be a little more worried than he is about how a great part of the conversations they have in bed revolve around the blonde fanged little shit– and not only when they’re tainting the name of their friend and holding it in their lips as they chase their own pleasure, but after, too, before and in between.
They wonder aloud what he’s doing at the moment (“Probably teaching a band of bats how to play the violin” and “You’re an idiot, Trevor” usually follow this particular line of thought, as well as things of similar nature), how he’s sleeping (“Does he even... sleep?”), if he’s already tumbled the castle and the fort to the ground (“Likely; I hold no faith in the man”), if he’d be horrified if he found out about the things they do to him in the privacy of their bedroom (“Likely, but maybe he’d find it sexy”), as they press closer together in the dark, in the back of a cart, in an inn’s room, in a clearing in the woods, encased in a little cocoon of their own design that may protect them from the outside world, even if just for a little while, daydreaming of golden hair and honey eyes and wondering, wondering, wondering.
(It’s got Trevor wondering at what Alucard is doing in his own spare time, which is, well, horrifying; and it really does spook him to such a degree he’s walking out the shithole of a town they’re at and into the woods to stare at his own face in a lake and ask himself what the fuck does he think he’s doing.)
He never does bring it up himself, it’s always Sypha, demanding and requesting from him, her voice breathless against his lips, that he tells her, tells her what he would say, and do, if he was here right now, with us .
But then again, Trevor always, enthusiastically, indulges.
When Sypha’s legs no longer twitch and her breathing has evened out, she slaps a hand on Trevor’s shoulder and shoves him back on the bed. He falls back with an oonf, followed by a frankly embarrassing startled gasp when Sypha takes hold of his hands and pins them against the hay mattress. She stares down at him with sparkling blue eyes, a red curl falling over her face, and when his hands twitch under her hold, it’s not out of stubbornness (maybe a little bit), but because he’d like to tuck it back in place.
“Your turn, Belmont” she declares, restarting the pace of her hips with somehow double the force and enthusiasm.
Trevor is just mesmerized by the fact she can still sit upright. How some people can still have energy after a spend, he just will never understand: all he knows how to do after is passing the fuck out. It’s why, during Sypha and his hours of fun bedroom chronicles, he tries to hold it off as long as possible, which sometimes isn’t very long, because she’s just so fucking hot (see the first paragraph for clarification) and all-consuming and he’s merely a man of flesh and bone. Falling asleep in the middle of sex will never be one of his proudest moments, but hey, can’t be worse than the time his entire family and clan got exiled from the church and persecuted by the common people, can it?
“I see we’ve got a lot of energy” He’s surprised by how delighted his voice sounds– he shouldn’t be feeling this elated about being caged by a pretty girl on his own bed, should he?
“You’ve forgot something very important, Trevor” Sypha declares, very serious all of a sudden, but the severity of it is softened by the bite she leaves on the underside of his jaw.
The red curl is still dangling in front of his face, and he follows it like a mesmerized cat. “Yeah? What is it?”
She smiles. “He’d like to see you finish, too”
Trevor will later deny the way his entire body flushed at that, because Christ and the bloody Pope, that’s embarrassing. He’s got to stop himself from frantically nodding, and he can’t ever remember being this excited about something concerning sex. Not until Sypha and her weird wild imagination involving imaginary husbands and half-clothed damsels in distress and half-vampires who happen to be their friend gazing appreciatively at them from across the room, longing, reserved, repressed.
“He was leaning forward as I was coming, yeah? I think about now he would’ve stepped on the bed, unable to keep away” she goes on, hot against his panting mouth. “I think his knee would be digging on you right here ”
He feels the side of his thigh tingle where she poked it, and the image rushes unannounced and mildly unwelcome into his mind: Alucard, kneeling next to them on the edge of the bed, curiously looking on but not touching, his eyes looking like liquid gold in the dying orange light of the room, his trousers now open enough to see a trail of blonde fuzz disappear into them. He looks into Sypha’s eyes, and he knows it’s an image she’s seeing, too.
“Sypha, shit –”
She recognizes he’s got something on his mind. “Tell me”
“Would he– pull his cock out?”
“Oh, yes ” She moans against his shoulder. “He explains he cannot help himself, not when–”
“ When you’re looking so good, Sypha, riding him so well ” he finishes for her, dropping his voice to that smooth baritone, and hearing himself bastardize Alucard’s real voice sends a white hot shot of pure lust into his cock.
“Trevor– my legs, they’re getting–”
“Don’t you worry, sugar. I got you” He grabs her thighs with his newly free hands and pulls, setting her on his lap as he sits upright and sending her falling backwards on the bed, where she keeps mewling with every trust of Trevor’s hips. “I think he’d give us points for creativity on this position”
Sypha laughs, a lustful, excited little thing, covering her face with the back of her hand as she gets dragged on the bed. “I think he’d start moving his hand by now, Trevvy. You don’t know how you look, all big and strong slamming into me”
The tingle of liquid heat this sends through his spine makes him blush all the way to his ears, and he warns, breathless and embarrassed, “Sypha...”
“He’d keep asking me to tell him how it feels. So good, I’d tell him. He feels so good inside me, he’s hitting me right here” Her hand sneaks down her body to press on her lower belly, where Trevor is slamming into her. “The way he’d groan, just hearing how deep you are inside me, his hand speeding up– next thing you know, he’ll be snatching you, Trevor, taking you all to himself–”
The arrested images keep flashing in his mind unsolicited, bright and burning like the sun over his shut eyes, of milky white thighs under his hands and ample scarred torso arching on the bed, golden locks spilling over the mattress and a fanged, gaping mouth, gasping his name with every thrust of his hips. Sypha uncorked the bottle of wondering he had been doing a tremendous job keeping shut, and now this is all he knows how to do: he wonders at the tight feeling of his ass, at the pink shade of his cock, the sounds he’d make, the things he’d say...
It’s terrifying, and it’s all he can do not to cry out. “Keep– Sypha, holy hell –”
“You’re close, aren’t you? You like that, don’t you?” she reads him like he’s an open book. “Which part? Him watching you or him taking you inside?”
All of it. “Sypha” he only groans instead, something primal and terrified in his chest.
“That’s okay. Don’t tell me. But Trevor, do something for us instead. Me, and him”
There’s not enough blood in Trevor’s brain at the moment for him to think rationally. “What is it?”
“Say his name”
Say my name, Belmont, the voice rings unsolicited in his head, and it’s spilling out of his lips before he can stop it. “Fuckfuckfuck, Alucard, Alucard , you bloody bastard– you– so tight– so good– Alucard ”
Sypha has been abusing her clit, and he only just registers it when she tightens around him. “That’s it, that’s so good – Trevor , that’d send him right over the edge. He’d gasp, and curse, and he’d spill all over my belly–”
And that has Trevor crying out in a frankly embarrassing way, as he feels ecstasy rip through him in an arrested wave of white hot pleasure. He shouldn’t be shuddering and detonating like this, at the image of another man’s cum all over the girl under him, but the thought is, simply, exhilarating, and feels like lightning in his veins. He vaguely registers Sypha arching and gushing all over their sheets with a weak cry, worsening the filthy mess between her thighs and milking him for all he’s worth.
Trevor keels and slumps forward, landing on his face on the bed. Sypha catches her breath, her eyes crossed and a silly smile of accomplishment pulling at her lips.
“So, you want him like that too” she concludes. “Freaky”
Trevor is a snore away from complete unconsciousness and can’t be reached at the moment. But they’re circling right back to this, alright– when he regains his bearings. For now, he blows off the candle with a slap of his hand, pulls the thin sheet over himself and Sypha, mumbles a sleep now, speak later at her and falls promptly asleep, golden eyes and fanged smiles and red-hot curls and fireplaces playfully dilly-dallying at the edges of his mind.