Of course that was the case. That was always the case. The master determines the place and time for everything, regardless of the vampire's preferences. Alucard scowled, his head falling back to rest against his master's pillow, ebony strands cascading over the curves to lick the mattress and pool as a collection of lustrous black. A pale arm hooked over his eyes that closed to end the listlessness of their gaze to instead replace it with sleep. It was dawn and his master had never returned to bed that night, leaving the vampire waiting on his order. Still unable to leave, the burning eyes extinguished themselves by closing, as if setting a cap atop a candle to snuff out its flame. The demon passed into sleep, lying on his master's bed, occupying one of his pillows while his arm covered his eyes. Featured in black, he seemed to meld into the blue of the fabric beneath him and then pass out of it again like coming shadows given off by clouds that would fade and return with the grace of the manipulative wind. Soon the vampire was asleep. It was later that his master came to bed, staggering into the room with heavy steps, his body groaning at the sight of the blankets and pillows, unable to register the presence of his vampire as he regretted his priority to shut the door, taking his eyes from the wonderful form of his mattress. The man lurched forward with his steps, practically falling toward the bed instead of walking, so heavy with fatigue that he stumbled and fell, catching himself by grasping the comforter at the last moment. The man who was half ghoul at this point of exhaustion, dragged himself onto the bed. He turned over, his body settling alongside his servant's, blue eyes dimly glancing over the sharp pale nose belonging to the vampire before rolling backwards in the man's skull as he passed out of consciousness, falling asleep in that worrisome fashion.
And so the two slept, side by side, master and slave, peaceful in their universal slumber, the tired mortal and immortal creatures of the Hellsing manor.
