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It started much like any other night.
Once the manor's staff had gone to their chambers, once Walter had retired for the evening after making sure his lady wanted for nothing, and once the only noise was that of the patrols doing their night rounds two stories down, they remained.
Integra Hellsing looked at her vampire, who sat at the opposite side of her desk, waiting for the next move as the embers of the night's last cigar died in the glass ashtray.
Some nights they had spent hours in pregnant silence, she going over the lines of a book and he simply looking at her with smoldering eyes. When she lifted her sight to meet his, it would be him to concede and look away.
Other nights, they spoke; of everything and nothing, with more or less jest, but always his words were laced with something thick as honey, with words unsaid that filled the air between them. At times she had stood and cut the tension by leaving for the night; on others, she had allowed the talk to carry on much longer than advisable.
She was unsure of which kind this night would be; it was, by all indication, moving towards one of silence. They had become more and more common, and the unspoken words heavier.
On that particular evening, however, they outweighed her facade of indifference and she cut through them as swiftly as she cut flesh with her sword.
"Stop."
"Stop what, my Master?"
"You know what." She did not even need to lift her eyes from the pages she had been attempting to focus on for the last half hour.
"Please do enlighten me." He sounded too amused, barely pretending any curiosity.
She shut the book closed in one simple motion, set it on the wooden surface, and walked around until she had her back to the desk and him close enough that she could have kicked the chair he sat on if she so wished. Which, depending on his will to vex her, she might.
She crossed her arms and her eyes narrowed when she stared into his, probing, disapproving.
"You are looking at me."
He leaned back and smiled; a genuine smile, but full of sharp teeth.
"I always look at you, my Master. Is that a nuisance?"
Her arms only tightened.
"We both know why that is. Spare me the verbal sparring for an evening."
The vampire, however, did not seem to wish to be so gracious. She saw the aura of darkness at his edges darken.
"You will have to be more specific."
She felt the slightest hint of a headache at the edge of her senses. She swallowed hard and chose her words carefully, yet the delivery was much less authoritative than she had planned.
"It is... lascivious."
He raised his eyebrows only slightly. "Oh." His lips had formed the sounds so softly. Her eyes were the ones to fixate on him this time, and somehow she knew that he had noticed her attention. She cursed internally at her slip. A shadowy tendril hovered over her frame without touching her. The atmosphere of the room had shifted; if the tension had been hanging in the air, it was now precipitating.
He chuckled and spoke in a tone so low that it made the air vibrate, and she felt it rather than hear it.
"My dearest Master, you cannot blame me for taking pleasure in your image. I am but a man, Integra, gazing upon you."
"You are n-"
"I am a monster, as I am a man," he corrected her. His position was poised and looked relaxed, back resting fully on the chair. "You seem oblivious to your power over me."
She thought the light of her lamp wavered but did not turn to check.
"I do know what power I have over you, vampire."
"We both know that is not what I mean." He sighed. "Am I not allowed to look, when touch is forbidden to me?"
She looked aside, even if only to regain her bearings.
"How... base," she murmured under her breath.
"You have called me the basest of creatures before." He closed his eyes and smiled, lost in some memory. "It is not as simple..." the shadow coil nearest to her curled around a lock of her hair before languidly receding to the floor and fluttering at her feet. " I crave, Integra. It is in my nature to desire, to yearn for many things which I in no way desire?"
"You want me to debase myself, is that it? What do you dream of, that I will ever touch you?"
"No, my Master, you are mistaken." He shook his head and laughed, as if her words were ludicrous; a complete impossibility. "I dream of you allowing me to touch you. I crave nothing but to be of service to you, in every way."
Her eyes widened, but she did not reply.
"You do things to me, Integra, that go far beyond any seal that ties me to you. Things you might cut my tongue off for speaking aloud."
She was the one to close her eyes this time, as she calculated.
When she opened them, she said only three words.
"Then show me."
His expression was not confused; it was a pure feline curiosity. For an instant, the silence fell heavy on the air again.
"Master?"
"What I do to you." Whatever nervousness she might have been feeling, her expression did not betray it. She uttered the same words, lower, but with the same intensity, both an order and a challenge.
"I would not wish to refuse my lady's curiosity, for I am all hers." His words made a shiver run down her spine but she ignored it. Her eyes were now taking in the shape of the man sitting in front of her, whose clothes slowly faded away and left him exposed to her, from the dark hair that danced over his bare shoulders, to his long limbs, to his evident arousal.
His hand trailed up on the inside of his thigh, almost cautiously, and rested by the side of his erection.
Her mouth had gone dry and her tongue felt too slow to form words properly, but she hoarsely spoke.
"Go ahead."
His red eyes smoldered under heavy lashes and his grin widened. His finger ran up his length before gripping it fully and moving it up and down. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Is this what you wanted, my Master?"
She shut her eyes only for a moment and, when she looked at him again, there was an eerie calmness to her.
"Tell me, Servant. That for which I should burn your tongue."
He laughed, the softest of moans escaping his lips.
"I recall all those times your pulse has quickened after I kill your enemies. The times you have bestowed me with your approval after I come back and you glow, my Master, you glow with satisfaction."
Her right hand tightened around the edge of her desk and crumpled the papers that were there. Bloody hell.
"I look at you," he continued, his hand moving harder and his voice coming in raspy breaths she had never known him to need, "because you stir in me lusts I had long forgotten."
She felt the shadows around her pulsate and sigh heavily.
"I can sense your arousal, Integra, when you lay in bed close to sunrise and think I cannot hear your muffled sounds against the pillows as you touch yourself." Her eyes widened at the words. "And how tempting it is, how easy it could be, to simply appear behind you and be the one to relieve you with my fingers instead. You might even let me; you might even be the one to guide me and order me."
Her desire overpowered her embarrassment at the intrusion and she felt her legs grow weak.
She removed her right glove and left it on the table while keeping her eyes on him.
"Keep going," she ordered, and her own hand moved from her neck down to her shirt. Ever so slowly, she moved it over her breast, gauging his reaction as she caressed herself through the fabric.
Just to see.
Her own surprised gasp at the sensation joined his.
“Ah, my Master, you are wicked.”
His shadows gripped her calves but did not go higher.
"I think of you." His gaze was scorching; she was burning, prey to the same lust she saw in him, and "I think of you in the cold and I soothe my need for you, all of you." His hitching breath punctuated his voice. She stood there, captivated, watching him, drinking in the scene before her eyes that she had commanded. She shuddered.
He finally closed his eyes and threw his head back with a smile on his parted lips.
"Ah, Integra..." Her name was a moan that caressed her before he spilled on his chest with an animalistic grunt, his hips thrusting in rhythm with his hand.
She watched his orgasm, spellbound, her breathing matching the pace of his movements, and became painfully aware of her own, unfulfilled desire. She turned sharply away and pressed the back of her hand painfully against the edge of the desk. Her other hand found leverage among the crumpled papers as she rolled her hips against her hand. Her hair fell on her face and stuck to her skin, her glasses threatening to slide off. The sound of her own ragged breathing and the wooden desk to the incessant movement of her hips and hand was all she could hear until she came hard against her fingers with a strained sob.
She was still trembling when she started to move the hand away and had to bite her lip to suppress a moan when she brushed against her slickness with the motion. Before she could begin to process what had just happened—what she had allowed to happen—her hand was gently led away by his own. She felt him press against her, his clothes properly placed once more and he lifted her fingers to his lips. His tongue ran against her fingers, between them, licking and sucking, groaning as he tried to get the last drop of her taste.
She allowed herself to fall backward and rest her weight on him and moved her fingers from his lips up to his cheek to cup the side of his face. She thought she heard him shakingly whisper her name over the roaring of blood in her ears, but her own sigh was swallowed by the growing silence of the room.