A little something I wrote about Pip. I haven't done anything with him yet and this was supposed to be something to the effect of sappy. I'm sorry, Marie, if it isn't. ;A;
The Song is Roxanne by Sting and the Police, but translated to spanish. Hopefully, this also Meets some other expectations. This fic may be subject to change.
Disclaimer: Hellsing isn't mine. Nor are any song lyrics, no matter what language they come in.
Roxanne, usted no tiene que poner la luz roja que Esos días están sobre Usted no tiene que vender su cuerpo a
la noche Roxanne, usted no tiene que llevar ese vestido Anda esta noche las calles para dinero Usted no cuida
si está equivocado o si tiene razón
Pip Bernadotte shifted the weapon on his back and smiled a daring smile at a prostitute. He was goofy, and with two eyes at this time. The girls looked him over, and seeing him as a man not worth their time they moved away. The smells of Spain filled his nostrils as he watched those ladies wag away. He made a face and turned around to see his men looking at him expectantly. Their mission complete for the day, it was time for their spoils. Their rewards.
Wine.
Women.
Song.
Pip shrugged at the men and they rolled their eyes, some even giving exasperated grunts of frustration. They dispersed.
"Perhapz a brothel will be a bit more…yielding…" he said to his men and smiled again. His smile was one of apology. They perked up again and turned to their captain.
"Alright, to ze brothel zen," he told his men and led them to the first two glorious things on their grocery list.
They made their way to the red light district which, was not red. It was mostly hues of green and blue. The buildings were all peeling and men and women sang deathly songs of gloom out the windows and laughed terrible Spanish laughs. Pip gulped and they happened upon a bordello.
A cat house. The women were there in all their glory. Breasts exposed and boas around their thin shoulders. They called and clamored for the men of The Wild Geese. Who, in turn clamored back.
Pip's men ran ahead to pick their whores. To excuse themselves for the night, but not quietly. An older member of the squad patted Pip's shoulder and gave the younger man a smirk as he passed by to take the arm of a dark skinned laughing woman.
Pip moved to the only woman left. She stood tall, with long legs and small breasts.
"Señor," she said and she brushed the mans bangs away from his face gently with her dark fingers. Pip smiled another goofy smile at the young woman before him. Pip was becoming accustomed to hookers. They were beginning to be a normal thing. He had only slept with his first a few months before at his eighteenth birthday. She had been an Italian woman and he found that she was too bossy and did not enjoy her company. This woman though, she would be simple. She would be good.
Roxanne, usted no tiene que poner el Roxanne ligero rojo, usted no tiene que poner la luz roja
Pone la luz roja,
pone la luz roja
Pone la luz roja,
pone la luz roja
Pone la luz roja, ah
Her bedroom was dark, only a red light shone through a lamp. Her shirt had been thrown on it, casting the eerie light about the room. She stood before him, half naked as he pulled his boots of hurriedly. Her lips were full and red in a pout and her hip was cocked to one side as she waited for him to undress.
Pip found himself smiling again as his fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Embarrassment flooded him. Oh, why couldn't he unbutton his shirt and be with her? He wanted to be between those thin legs that sparkled in the light with flecks of glitter makeup. She smiled at him and Pip felt his fingers fumble again.
That smile. That smile could drive him mad. She approached him and looked up at him.
"Allow me," she said and her English was perfect. She took his shirt in her hands and tugged it apart. The remaining buttons shot across the room. She leaned forward and licked his chest. Pip's eyes rolled up to the ceiling and he felt himself melting in his socks.
Amazing. She was good at her job. She was perfect, in fact. Pip could not deny it. He wanted her so badly that it was hurting him. He had never wanted another woman so badly. She was humming. A war tune. Something he'd heard the children sing in the streets as they ran with blood. Her blood was flowing beneath that brown skin and he wanted it all for himself. Her tongue reached the hollow of his throat and he picked her up, her wrapping her legs around his waist. He took her to the bed and laid her down, roughly.
"What'z yer name?" he asked her as he moved his tongue over he body, as if it was exploring some unknown land.
"Roxane," she moaned to him and he smiled.
"Then call me 'Cyrano de Bergerac'," he joked to her and he pushed her skirt up to her waist and removed his pants quickly. He took her legs and lifted them up to his shoulders, entering her roughly and beginning a dance that he found he would enjoy every time he did it.
Te quiero desde que yo le supe yo no hablaría en tono condesciente a usted yo tengo que decirle apenas cómo yo
me siento que yo no le compartiré con otro chico yo sé que mi mente es hecha Tan guardó su hace le Dijo una
vez yo no le diré otra vez es una manera mala
They went the night, changing positions and moving about the bed roughly. The other shouts and creaks had stopped long ago, but Pip and Roxane continued. Spain was warmer than France. Pip found his body covered in salty sweat as he made love to the Spanish prostitute beneath him. How strange the things noticed in the midst of passion.
He collapsed next to her by the time the wee hours had began and she breathed heavily next to him in the red room. Pip leaned over her and looked at her heaving form.
"Are you okay?" he questioned and she looked at him, almost uninterested.
"Si," she said and her hands snaked over his shoulders. He smiled and bent down to her lips once again. She stopped him with a sentence:
"What do you want more than anything else in the world?"
"You go firzt," he told her and she frowned a childish frown of 'I asked you first'. Pip smirked at her and his hand snaked down and hit that button. She squirmed.
"To put my makeup away."
A surprise, like a birthday forgotten. Pip raised his eyebrow at her. She in turn begged him for more of his touch. He didn't give it.
"But you do zis for a living," he told her and she smiled at him.
"Not because I like it, Frenchman," she told Pip and he furrowed his brow at her. "Now answer me."
Pip thought about it. What did he want?
Normality.
Passion like none other.
Maybe a family, one day.
Sleep, at that precise moment.
A girl like his mother.
"I don't know," he said and she frowned at him again.
She spoke something in Spanish to him and rolled over to sleep. Pip watched her back and then looked away, to the ceiling. He'd lied. He wanted something. He wanted something very badly.
Roxanne, usted no tiene que poner el Roxanne ligero rojo, usted no tiene que poner la luz roja Usted no tiene
que poner la luz roja
Pone la luz roja,
pone la luz roja
He wanted her.