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Little Deaths	By : myalchod Category: Hellsing > General Views: 3670 -:- Recommendations : 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.

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Little Deaths

by Charis

Disclaimer: None of this is mine.

Why: Because I have this fifteen page paper due in just under twenty-four hours, and I'm in a procrastinatory mood. And I felt like writing Hellsmut, even if I feel dirty now. I tried to keep things as IC as possible in the circumstances, but I'm not sure how well I succeeded. Integra does seem like she'd go mad at these sorts of functions, and Alucard would certainly make them more ... interesting.

If there was one thing Integra Hellsing hated more than formal functions, it was when her vampiric servant -- who she'd had to bring along this time, thanks to the short notice making it impossible to find a suitable escort -- decided to alleviate the boredom that accompanied such things.

He'd begun somewhere in the middle of the soup and the utterly stultifying discussion of -- what had it been? Hunting, yes, by which they meant small game animals, rather than a real hunt with actual dangers involved. It had taken much of her iron control not to roll her eyes in exasperation or make some ill-thought comment that would only remind these gentlemen why they wanted her utterly destroyed. Instead, she'd politely sipped at her soup and made noncommittal sounds of agreement at the appropriate points. And somewhere in the middle of all that, with bloody Harrington holding forth about a particularly 'splendid' chase, she'd felt something cold wrap around her ankle. It took a split-second to realise what it was, thankfully less time than it would have for her to go for the concealed pistol (as if she would ever truly go unarmed) the ridiculous full skirts of her gown hid. Instead, she'd settled for darting a significant glare at Alucard.

Her monster had just smiled.

She kicked, and the tendril drew back, but it returned around the time the main course was served, when the discussion had moved on to the so-called antics of these families' spoiled children. These were her contemporaries they were speaking of, and Integra suddenly felt as though she was a thousand years old and incredibly weary. Was she the only one of her generation with any sense of obligation and duty?

On that particularly disheartening thought, cold brushed between the back of her knee and the chair. This time she didn't even look over at Alucard, but thought furiously, 'Stop it!'

'Why?' The impression of a grin as the touch, like a single icy finger, moved higher to stroke the inside of her thigh.

She repressed a shiver -- revulsion, she told herself firmly. 'If you don't behave appropriately, Alucard, I'm going to bloody well lock you up in that basement for the next month.'

'And who's going to protect the city while you do? You don't have enough troops for that right now, not with real trouble coming.' He called her bluff with utter calm as the tendril split, became several, all gliding along bare skin. She wished, suddenly and fiercely, that she'd worn pants despite convention and propriety.

'Servant ...' gritted warning.

'Besides,' a conversational tone, 'consider this duty, Master.' One of the tendrils rubbed across her knickers, causing her to bite her tongue to find that control again. Again, the hint of a smile ghosted through her mind. 'I'm keeping you from killing these pathetic fools when they drive you insane with their chatter.'

That was a point she almost conceded. He must have sensed the momentary weakening, for now there was no fabric between her and his shadows, and the cold moved along heated skin. The sensations made her dizzy, icy fingers touching her, petting and stroking. When one of the tendrils licked across a little bud at the top of that heat, she bit down again, harder; when another circled her damp entrance before slipping inside, she tightened her fingers convulsively on the arms of the chair.

'Alucard --!' She was unsure what she was demanding of him, whether to tell him to stop or urge him on. It suddenly mattered very little that they were in the company of others, that the conversation was continuing around them. Someone asked her a question, and she managed to make a noncommittal sound that could have been either agreement or refutation; her entire focus was on not moving, while Alucard's shadowy touch pushed her higher and higher.

A last hard brush against her clit, a last licking thrust inside, and she felt herself peak, fire exploding through her body even as she fought to remain motionless. When she could think again, he had withdrawn from her, and she was all too aware of the lingering wetness between her thighs -- and was suddenly, incongruously grateful for the many layers of her gown, sure to hide any evidence.

'I'm going to kill you later,' she threatened.

'Is that a promise?' His voice sounded different now, rich and satisfied, and it sent another ripple of heat through her. 'After all, I suppose I owe you death for death.'

For a moment she grappled with those words, uncomprehending, before his laughter echoed in her mind. 'Ah, my dear master -- has no one ever told you what a little death is?'

Oh. Torn between anger at his smug tone and a certain curiosity -- a desire to see how he intended to give her that repayment -- she settled for leaning back in her chair as the dinner was cleared away and engaging Lord Penwood in a discussion of the latest foreign policy developments. Anticipation heightened pleasure, after all -- and she had to decide what it was he owed her, precisely.

And when a tendril began to coil around her ankle again, she stepped on it and was rewarded with a scarcely-audible sizzle. Putting a small amount of blessed silver on those accursed heels had been a brilliant idea.
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Little Deaths