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Idol Hands	By : Clocktower Category: -Misc Anime > Crossovers Views: 2327 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not hold the copyright for the Hellsing, Harry Potter, Bayonetta, or Tomb Raider fandoms. I do not profit from this story.

Chapter List
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Ever since the rainy afternoon Integra Hellsing had discovered masturbation, she'd imagined her arousal in terms of a bubble inside her, one that would grow larger and larger until released. She could soothe it with a cold shower, or ignore it, but every so often it became too big and she'd succumb, stoking her lust until it burst, leaving her feeling spent and ashamed.
Of course there was no such bubble inside her, only a Catholic would think something like that, but here in her dream there certainly seemed to be one. She lay in her bed, naked, her belly swollen as if she were pregnant. It made it hard to reach her clitoris, hard to touch the swelling inside her. She could almost reach the spot, so close.
She had to get up, to find something better than her fingers. All around her bed, like ropes of garlic, hung black tentacles. Some dangled dead like ropes, others writhed like living worms. She was safe from them on her mattress, for now, but she feared they'd soon fall, covering her. She had to get away from them, had to pop the bubble so she could run.
Too late. The black, writing mass above her let loose and fell. She screamed, awoke with such violence that for a full minute she had no idea if she was awake or dreaming. She was naked, covered in sweat with pruned fingers, her sex utterly soaked. She reached for her bed sheet, found it lying on the floor soaked in cold sweat alongside her night clothes.
This was not the first time Integra Hellsing had found herself like this, though her dreams normally involved vampires, not tentacles. She knew what she had to do. From her closet she selected a short, olive-drab robe. Her eye patch had been left on the nightstand. She thought about leaving it, but put it on anyway. Needed to make wearing it a habit.
Downstairs, in the kitchen, she had several glasses of water to replace what she'd lost while turning in her sleep. The bubble inside her was still swollen and sore, but she loathed the idea of going back to that damp bed and taking care of it. Already she felt filthy and ashamed.
With a tall glass of water in hand, she turned to leave the dark kitchen only to find Seras standing beneath the arch of the entryway.
"Seras," she said.
"Sir Integra. I've been meaning to ask you something."
Integra took a sip of water, wishing she had a cigar handy. Evening chats with Seras were often heavy affairs, and that was under normal conditions. Seras had been acting odd ever since her return from the Derleth mission, like a house cat that had been out wandering for too long.
"Make it quick. I'm having some trouble sleeping."
"Why do you go by Sir Integra? Isn't the word for a female knight a dame?"
"Dame Integra Hellsing doesn't have quite the same ring to it as Sir Integra," she said, marveling at how long it had taken for anyone to ask her that question. Her answer wasn't quite the truth, but would serve well enough.
"No, I suppose not," said Seras. "A name really should roll off the tongue, shouldn't it?"
Another sip of water, a secret pinch to see if she was still dreaming. Seras Victoria would be a strange person even if she weren't an orphaned vampire. "I'm going to take a shower, I think," said Integra. "Good evening."
Seras stepped aside to let her pass. Come daylight, Integra decided, they would have a talk. It wouldn't do for Hellsing's remaining trump card to be going crazy.
Integra brought a case of cigars to the washroom with her, planning to have a smoke out on the balcony by her bedroom after she was clean. She turned on the water, disrobed, saw herself in the mirror. Her stomach was flat, but inside her she felt the bubble, big, pink and sore, in dire need of bursting. She fancied she could feel those tentacles all over her body, slithering, pulling. She put two fingers in her mouth, sucked them while watching herself in the mirror. She looked good in an eye-patch, she thought, not that it mattered. Nothing carnal did, not to her. She thought about fingering herself before the mirror, watching herself masturbate. The thought of how filthy she'd feel afterward made her shudder, and she went so far as to touch the bit of yellow hair just above the pink flesh. It was like playing with one's gag reflex, seeing just how far it could be pushed before it became too much.
She took off her eye-patch and stepped into the shower stall. It was safe there, safe to touch and to probe, to make the bubble swell until it burst and left her standing on weakened knees. Soaked, warm, she dove in, sighing at the promise of a release. Deeper she went, harder, leaning against the sturdy shower wall so that it might all be over faster. The longer it took, the deeper the shame at the end. Sometimes she reveled in it, going so far as to suck her musky-smelling fingers dry afterward.
Not this time, not tonight. She wanted it done, wanted the bubble burst and spent so that she might sleep a few hours before sunrise. The water reminded her of the dream tentacles, black, slick, running through her every vein and nerve, pushing the walls of the pink bubble thinner and thinner, to the very edge of bursting.
"Come on, damn it," she muttered under the hiss of the water jets, digging deeper with her fingers, routing out every nerve, every fleshy inch that would bring her closer. Her knuckles were sore, her fingertips pruned.
The bubble inside her had grown impossibly large and pink. She could almost see the purple stretchmarks, knew if she slapped it there would be a sharp sound like a beach ball being hit. Pop, God damn you, pop! she cried wordlessly under the shower jets, ready to get on her knees and pray for an orgasm. She then did just that, in a sense, sliding to her knees to make less work for her legs. "Please, God," she said, alarmed at how much she'd aroused herself. Was it possible to drive one's self mad with lust? Was that one of the secret ways people of her position and stature lost their minds?
The mad, childish thoughts only the isolated could think.
She took a deep breath, kept her fingers busy. The orgasm would come, the need would leave her, it had to. No one had ever gotten stuck like this, had they?
"Please, God, let me cum, please," she said, formulating mad plans for when the hot water ran out. Her fingers weren't cutting it, she needed something more. Where would she find such a thing? The dungeons. Some of the interrogation tools kept down there had other functions, she remembered, perhaps...
The door to the washroom opened. Insanely, Integra was still thinking about the swelling inside her, the intruder a minor distraction. "Who...?"
The curtain was yanked sideways hard enough to dislodge some of the hooks. Standing there was Seras, a curious look on her face, as if she'd stumbled across Integra struggling with a stubborn knot in her shoelace.
"Seras! Get the hell out of here! What's the matter with you?" Integra said, covering her bare eye socket rather than her breasts or genitals.
"I can help," said Seras.
"You're the one who's going to need help, you lunatic!" said Integra. "Get out of here now, or..."
Seras picked up Integra's eye-patch and tossed it to her, looking away during the moment it took to put it on. "I can help you," said Seras.
"Seras..."
Suddenly the vampire was gone, vanished in the span of a blink. All vampires were capable of such theatrics, but Seras rarely employed them, leaving Integra to question the reality of the entire encounter, that was until she switched the water over to cold and filled her body full of lightning. Only when she'd begun to shiver did she turn the water off and step out to dry herself.
She saw herself in the mirror again, hair flat, her bronze skin covered in gooseflesh. She didn't look bloated between her legs, but the swelling was still there, aching to be overwhelmed and gratified.
"Damn it, Seras," Integra hissed, donning her robe, leaving the bright light of the washroom for the black, empty halls of the manor.
Back in her room, she threw a fresh sheet over the bed and lay on it in her night robe. She'd forgotten her cigars in the washroom. She hadn't the energy to finger herself anymore, but try as she might to sleep she couldn't. She closed her eye, knew sleep wouldn't come. She thought about things, all things, sighed when she realized her hips were rocking of their own accord.
When she opened her eye, she was startled, not so much by Seras standing at the foot of her bed, but by the garlands of slick, black tendrils covering the canopy above her bed. A blink and they were gone. Seras remained. She wore her blue skirt with the black leggings. Her shirt was unbuttoned. "You need my help," said Seras. "I can feel it."
"What's going on?" said Integra. "Why are you acting like this?"
Seras looked stricken, as if Integra were refusing chemotherapy. "I need to help you," she said, putting a knee on the bed. "Just let me help."
Nothing Seras said swayed Integra. What slowly parted her legs was the vampire's glacial approach. Integra let her head sink into her pillow, glanced out the window at the cool dark left by a fading moon.
"Very well," said Integra, thinking she must still be dreaming. "Make it quick, and don't speak of it later."
She hoped her tone would make the vampire reconsider, that this could all be written off as a dream or a farce come morning. Just another bizarre episode brought on by months of feeling rootless and alone.
Seras slid soundlessly onto the bed, her cool fingers gently touching Integra's legs, urging their slow parting. Integra remained propped on her elbows, not fully believing this was happening as Seras' head was lowering itself between her thighs. Eager as the vampire was, even her eyes were wide with wonder and disbelief. Seras paused, her face all but touching Integra's womanhood. If she so much as looked up for further permission, Integra vowed she'd kick her off the bed. Instead, the vampire plunged in.
Seras' long tongue was like a cold lance thrust into the center of burning, pink ball that had been swelling all evening. Integra cried out, clutched her bed sheet so hard her bronze knuckles turned white.
Vampire tongues were long, agile things, built to lap every drop of blood from a kill, though many of the books on the subject tended to linger over their more lurid applications. Integra now understood why, as Seras' tongue probed her, lingered over the places that made her squirm, which were many. She'd meant to keep her composure, to sit there silent while the vampire got its licks in, but the sensations were too intense. Integra moaned, gasped, gritted her teeth, strangled and pounded the fabric of her bed sheet, all while Seras' long, powerful tongue ravaged her. She imagined the bloated, pink mass inside her being whipped, crushed, speared, rolled around, pushed into deep, angular corners.
The swollen pinkness bled before it exploded, leaving Integra with just enough time to hiss Seras' name though clenched teeth before everything went dark. When Integra could think again she was still coming, still being lapped up by her starving servant. Integra looked down, failed to pull back a treacherous hand that crawled out to stroke the vampire's yellow hair. The bubble was popped, shredded. Everything was drenched.
After a final, broad lick, Seras pulled up. Her lips and chin glistened in the moonlight. She wiped her mouth with her forearm, the way a peasant might. Did table manners apply when eating pussy? Integra would've chuckled at the thought, but now that the bubble inside her was no longer pressing against her mind, she felt normal again, and in these circumstances that meant she felt ashamed.
It was always the same feeling, as if she were a kitchen appliance coated in weeks of greasy spatter. Sticky, dirty, used and spent. Part of her loved it, part of her didn't quite dare to beg God for relief. Alone, she could revel in it; a private sin, committed so that she might know what sin felt like and thus avoid it in the world outside of her bedroom, where Judgment mattered.
Seras sat on her knees between Integra's legs, her skirt riding high on her thighs. "Is it better?" she said, her face that of a dog hoping for its treat.
"Yes, well done," said Integra, feeling dirty and absurd. "You weren't expecting me to return the favor, I hope?"
"N-no," said Seras. "Of course not, I... just wanted to help."
"And so you have. Now, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to get some sleep."
"Yes, Sir Hellsing," said Seras, oddly formal, even for her. "I'll see you in the morning."
She slid off the bed and left the room, not entirely unaware that Integra was staring at her hips as they swayed. Integra tried not think about Seras, hoping sleep would come soon. It didn't. She rolled around with her thoughts for hours before finally drifting off, into a sea of black, slimy tentacles.
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Idol Hands