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The warm glow of the fireplace, the softer flames from several dozen candles, and protection away from the snowstorm raging outside… all of that should have left Jonathan with a sense of relief… perhaps even a sense of comfort.
Instead, Jonathan sat at the table with a strange itch growing in his mind.
The stone walls blocking out the storm instead closed in on him, blocking the way out.
The fires illuminating the space instead cast shadows on the floor, inching towards him.
And his host, the Count…
The erratic tapping of his fingers mirrored a clock, slowly ticking away.
The strange oddities only grew from there.
The supposed absence of others, the faint cries in the distance, the calls for help.
The sluggish lethargy unlike before, the traces of white and wisps of frost in the air.
The basement and its boxes with monsters… and cool hands capturing him from behind.
…the same hands that gently turned the pages of an old book.
A book its owner promptly closed when Jonathan looked up from where he laid on the floor, looked away from those hands.
A few moments passed in silence before a knowing smirk grew on Dracula’s face.
After that day, Jonathan’s eyes instinctually drifted towards the Count’s hands - whether they held a pen or opened a door, whether they invaded his space or staked a Bride.
And against his will, his mind - with all its disgraceful thoughts - reached far beyond.
Those same, strong hands grasping his face, this time to run a blade along its surface.
Those same, slim fingers taunting him, this time having their way, tracing over his skin.
The blaze raging within clashed against the permafrost holding him hostage.
And Jonathan hated it. He hated that he did not hate every piece of it.
It burned within. It raged like hellfire, a poison coursing through his veins.
Forever denying him the warmth of the sun, forever damning his existence.
And that frigidity only present in the damned…
In those sharp points piercing his paper-thin skin-
In those fathomless, covetous eyes boring through him-
In those deep possessive tones, declaring Jonathan his Bride-
In those firm arms and controlling hands, freezing him in place-
And still, those hands haunted his every thought, dream, and prayer.
No, his mind went far beyond that now, with his humanity ripped away.
No, nothing could stop Jonathan’s mind anymore.
It was his fault. Jonathan blamed Dracula for everything.
His phony invitation, his false hospitality, his cursed existence.
And those hateful, tempting hands that never left his mind in peace.
All it took was a single moment, a single glare, and a single arrogant smirk.
Instantly, Jonathan’s hands were at his throat, pressing with newfound strength.
And yet… that infuriating man stood there, entirely unaffected by Jonathan.
…no, it was far worse. His deep red eyes… his predatory smugness…
Above all, firm hands at his waist, drawing him even closer…
The damned vampire reveled in it, the same as himself.
Another raging snowstorm, another winter twilight, another fierce chill.
Much the same as that first day, when Jonathan first arrived at the castle.
Only now, he was his host’s unwitting companion, rather than his guest.
An inhuman, damned, companion to a monstruous creature of the night.
A fascinated, bewitched companion to an elegant predator hunting prey.
Under the moon, a white haze circled about Jonathan’s figure.
His former self would be lost, unable to see beyond the snow.
His new self, however, saw his companion, deep in the forest.
One hand around a neck, the other drenched in bright scarlet.
Once more, Vlad sat before a fireplace, his blood-stained hands turning the pages of another book.
Jonathan sat across him, fountain pen in hand and notebook on his lap.
The tranquil silence that fell between them… the cool pressure that spanned the space…
Rather than send an existential chill through him, it was a strange, new comfort of sorts.
Familiarity with the other? Acceptance of his circumstances?
Maybe, but with that, there was something he could not name.
Glancing up, Jonathan’s gaze drifted to those graceful fingers.
Once more, the man met his gaze, a smirk playing at his lips.
A bright scarlet adorned those hands once more, falling in rivulets along pale fingers.
Pale fingers mere inches away from him; its sweet fragrance, a bewitching siren song.
Their owner called out to him, his deep tones the final straw, and Jonathan was done.
His mind spun with desire as he stepped towards his… whatever Vlad was, swaying dangerously in pursuit of that intoxicating sweetness.
Soon, his lips closed around those fingers, swirling his tongue and sucking them, craving even more of that bloody nectar.
In seconds, his lips and tongue were met by another pair, dripping in rubine ambrosia.
Soon, the floodgates burst, and all of Jonathan’s latent desires and dreams rushed in.
Though his past self had tried to stop them, sensing the deadly chill of those dark, sinful shadows seeking to entrap him in their world… nothing was stopping him anymore.
Not his stolen humanity, not his lost moral compass, not even his fading sense of shame.
Sometimes, Vlad would slam him against the wall and take him right there.
Other times, Vlad would slip into his room and run his hands over his form.
This time, though, Jonathan was the one straddling him, holding him down.
As always, Jonathan returned to the world with one set of fingers slipping past his lips to trace his fangs, and the other set, skillfully stretching him before entering him.
After many decades together, it was a well-worn song and dance, a familiar comfort.
The sheer fullness, the power of his thrusts, the sparks shooting through his body…
The pair of hands holding him close, the taunting fingers keeping him on the edge…
Despite the time that passed them by, those touches were still so passionate-
As if Jonathan were still Vlad’s new Bride… which he had long since accepted.