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The Cut	By : DreadfulPenny Category: Hellsing > General Views: 3852 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 1-The Cut
- 1
Walter strode in from the motor pool, face paler than usual, apparently speaking to nothing.

“That’s it. I’ve had enough. I’m cutting it.”

You cannot cut it. Alucard’s voice was a silken hiss in his mind.

“I most certainly can. It is my hair and it nearly got me killed tonight.” His voice dropped as he passed one of the servants on the night shift. Alucard was the dirty little secret that a van Helsing couldn’t admit to keeping even if the name was now Hellsing.

The servants were used to the butler’s odd habit of talking to himself. Most blamed the fact that he was also Hellsing’s preeminent hunter. How sane could he be, they murmured to each other when they were sure he was out of earshot, with all that responsibility from such a young age.

Was it any wonder that in his 20s, Walter was such a peculiar person, with his long hair and his bloody weapons, and his isolation from everyone and everything human when it didn’t have to do with work? Turning gun barrels on a lathe at four in the morning was not a hobby; it was just another example of his odd obsessions.

That Walter stalked through the halls after another mission, scowling and talking to himself was nothing new.

Do not cut it.

“That’s easy for you to say. You can have yours any way you want it at any time.” He finally reached the sanctuary of his rooms and locked the rest of the world out before saying decisively, “It goes.”

Angel…

“Why do you care? And come out of the shadows, we’re in private now.” He sighed irritably and started to strip off his blood-sodden waistcoat.

“I find it pleasing,” Alucard said, stepping out of the wall. Tonight he was tall, dressed in a charcoal grey contemporary suit, more masculine than he appeared in Arthur Hellsing’s presence, although his straight black hair swept back from a widow’s peak and down over his shoulders. “You know that I think men in this era keep their hair too short. You would think they want to make themselves less appealing. Do not cut it.” The please was implicit in the vampire’s tone but unspoken.

Walter’s scowl had not softened, now he winced as he unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off to expose his bruise-patterned torso. “If I hadn’t had hair in my eyes, I would have seen her. No vampire should ever get close enough to do this.”

Alucard’s eyelids dropped as his gaze passed over the imprints of fists, livid against the white of the young man’s skin, so brutally impressed that the individual lines of fingers and knuckles were distinct. He reached out to pass his fingertips just above one of those angry marks.

“I am close enough.”

“Only because you cannot harm me,” Walter countered, hissing when Alucard’s fingers pressed into the bruise. “Don’t be childish,” he snapped and pushed the hand away.

Alucard moved his hand to push a stray piece of hair away from the young man’s face instead. “Indulge me. I ask for little.”

Walter snorted derisively and turned away. “I already give you more than any other human would willingly.”

“Because you are barely human yourself, Angel.”

Walter could feel Alucard’s presence close behind him, that tingle as his skin wanted to crawl. There was always the feeling that if he allowed himself a moment’s weakness, the beast would be at his throat.

For Walter C. Dornez, Angel of Death, and Hellsing’s trash man, that was part of the attraction. For all that he had almost taunted Alucard that he could not harm his partner, he was not fool enough to think the vampire was harmless.

Alucard knew the same of him.

“You haven’t given me any reason not to cut my hair other than your wants.” He stiffened when he felt fingers in his hair, combing through the strands. It was soothing – the gentle touch, the cool fingers on his scalp.

“I will not do this if your hair is short,” the vampire murmured, finger-combing the hair back from the young man’s face. “These little intimacies please us both.”

He gathered Walter’s hair into a thick hank at the back of his head and then gave it an ungentle tug. “Tie it back when you fight. Or tie it back all the time. But don’t cut it.”

Walter tilted his head back with the tug. Tying his hair would work, but making Alucard work for the agreement was more satisfying.

“It will be simpler to take care of after I cut it. It will be more efficient, less time consuming.” He didn’t bother to keep the slight teasing lilt out of his words.

“But if you cut it, I cannot do this,” the vampire purred then pulled again, forcing the young man’s head back and stretching his throat in a strained arc.

He took a moment to appreciate the sight of a hunter exposed and vulnerable, the pulse jumping in his throat, his lips parted as his breath came faster. The rising scent of the young man’s lust explained both quickened heartbeat and breathing.

Alucard’s tongue flicked out, snakelike, tracing Walter’s jugular and the gooseflesh that rose under the light touch. “So in control in public, my Angel. Organized, reliable, deadly.”

He breathed his next words into his lover’s ear. “Everyone needs a release. We both know that you need these chances to let someone else take control.”

“And we both know that you need these chances to be in control,” Walter whispered toward the ceiling.

Alucard went dangerously still for a moment before chuckling. “I would call us a fitting team – old and young, vampire and human, dominant and submissive, and monsters both.”

It was a measure of who Walter saw himself to be that he did not find being lumped as a monster with Alucard to be disturbing, but rather having the term “submissive” applied to him. Never mind that Alucard was right. It was hearing it stated in such a naked manner. Perhaps in his mind he had always rationalized it as the vampire being his teacher, but here his teacher had laid the truth bare.

“Do not cut it,” Alucard repeated. The hand not holding Walter in place slipped over one of his hips and up the center line of his abdomen. The touch was gentle in contrast to the demanding grip in his hair, turning feather light as he passed over the raised weals his partner had received earlier in the night.

Walter tensed in anticipation of pain from the touch, but the vampire’s skin barely brushed his, tantalizing and soothing the overstretched nerves under his fingertips. Once past the injuries, he resumed stroking over his lover’s skin with assurance, using the human’s smallest cues to refine pressure and direction leading inexorably up to a nipple to circle and tease.

“Do not cut it.” No request this time, but an order made with lips against skin and the bare scrape of deadly fangs an impotent threat, but a thrilling one.

Almost gasping now, Walter tried to nod against the hold that kept him in place with the tether of his hair. “I will not.”

“Ahh…” A sighed sound of approval. “Good.”

Now the vampire’s body pressed against his, strong chest against his bare back, groin against his backside, and the hand on his chest flattening with his palm over Walter’s nipple to hold them more tightly together.

“Take off your trousers.” Again an order and Walter obeyed immediately, unbuttoning and unzipping by touch, toeing off his shoes before sliding the tightly-tailored trousers off his hips and down, to be wriggled out of and kicked aside.

Such a sight. The servants that Walter organized and ordered with such efficiency would be amazed to see the young man nude and willfully helpless in another man’s hold, the dichotomy emphasized by Alucard’s clothed state versus Walter’s state of undress. From posture to position to appearance, there was no doubt who held the power in this moment.

Walter’s growing erection told the story of a young man for whom that was not a problem. He drew a shuddering breath and put his hands behind himself on Alucard’s hips, exerting gentle pressure to urge the vampire forward to rub cloth against skin.

A lover centuries old learns patience. The two stood in the silence of Walter’s room testing that patience as the vampire brought his human lover to a state where every touch, every taunting caress, every nip and kiss wrung some small sound from him until finally Walter moaned, “Now….”

He let go of Alucard’s hips to slide his hands across the front of the vampire’s trousers, fingers playing along the hard length of him under the cloth and then up to unbutton and unzip. “Now. Please.”

“Turn around.” Alucard tugged his hair to direct him. The vampire hadn’t released his grip since they’d begun and now used it to pull Walter in for a hard kiss, his tongue pushing between the young man’s lips to taste the faint flavor of cigarettes and human life there before putting his free hand on Walter’s shoulder and pressing him down to his knees.

Walter knelt in front of Alucard, looking up at the (at least for today) taller man, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth before he finished opening his lover’s trousers and slid them down. He hardly needed the pressure on the back of his head to lean in and run his tongue down the length of Alucard’s shaft. Just as he needed no encouragement at all to wrap his fingers around its base while his other hand cupped the vampire’s scrotum, stroking the delicate skin with his thumb.

The place where people go astray when they hear the word “submissive” is in thinking that the person submitting is naturally weak. On his knees in front of Alucard, Walter was not powerless when he took his lover into his mouth and made him groan. Nor was he weak when he heard the soft whisper, “Angel….” from a vampire with five hundred years of experience in giving and receiving pleasure.

He hadn’t given up his power, just exchanged it for a different kind.

The kind of power that had Alucard pull him back up from the floor only to push him down on the bed. He hardly noticed the protest from his bruised ribs as he fumbled in the stand next to the bed and pulled out a small bottle from which he poured a dollop of oil into his other hand. He could hardly move fast enough to spread the oil along the length of Alucard’s shaft and then on and into himself to prepare for what was to come.

Walter imagined that time slowed for a victim under a vampire’s bite in much the same way it did in those first moments when his lover pressed into him, that gasping moment when he had to force himself to relax while his body adjusted to accommodate the pleasurable intrusion. Was one form of penetration any more ecstatic than the other?

Then the moment passed, they were in and around each other, and they began to move together. Alucard’s eyes glowed hotter while he avidly watched his lover willingly and consciously submit himself to him. He could always have the illusion of willingness from weak-minded humans, but the reality from one such as Walter was immeasurably better.

Alucard pulled Walter’s head back, again exposing the arc of his throat. He dropped his face to the warmth there, aching to show the man what both kinds of penetration could be like together. But he could not, and that wrung a frustrated growl from him, his teeth snapping closed on air millimeters away from Walter’s skin.

The vampire would have to satisfy himself with the warmth of his human lover wrapped around him while he thrust harder, searching for one release if he could not have the other. His growl touched a primitive part of Walter’s brain, triggering an instinctive need to fight or flee, neither of which he did, instead he forced himself through that frisson of fear and on to greater heights until both men shuddered to their climaxes, first one, then the other.

After some murmured words, a quiet ripple of shared laughter, and a kiss that some would describe as loving, the two men, hunters, monsters, partners fell asleep, Alucard’s fingers still tangled in Walter’s hair.

In the morning Walter rose from his bed, leaving Alucard to soak up the last of the heat he’d left behind. He went through his morning routine of bathing, shaving, and dressing with his usual quiet efficiency.

Before he left his rooms to go about his daytime duties of keeping Hellsing manor running like clockwork, he pulled his hair away from his face and tied it back, then left without a glance for his lover’s pleased smile.
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Hellsing belongs to Kohta Hirano and whatever corporate entity has licensed that part of his soul. I make no claims to ownership, nor any money from this writing. It's all in good, not-so-clean fun.

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The Cut