Hair
Golden, silky strands wave past shoulders and down a narrowly toned back, curling like wisps of a paint brush right above muscular thighs. The vampire's hair is just a shade darker than silver in direct sunlight, and a rich blond from dusk to dawn. It flows in the wind, reminiscent of military generals parading over armies on steeds, and frames the creature's face like royalty.
Trevor has yet to touch his hair purposefully, having only glared at it from afar and felt its strength in their introduction. He has never felt it outright, but can imagine its softness in his palm, or how taut it would feel in his grasp.
The vampire neither hides his hair nor pulls it back, allowing it to flow freely and shadow his movements like an afterimage. Oftentimes Trevor only notices his shadowy presence by seeing his hair move in his peripheral.
It seems to dimly shine in moonlight.
.
Eyes
They are piercing and bold, submerged in a lurid gold that attacks with a vicious bite. He is wary of catching the vampire's gaze but nevertheless meets the challenge head on.
It always feels like a challenge when he finds the vampire staring at him from across the fire, or the wagon, or the field, or the haphazardly crafted shelter erupted from branches, tree leaves, and stone. The location may change yet the eyes do not and somehow along the way Trevor has become used to their surveillance.
Sometimes, he anticipates it, and even seeks it out when he thinks no one is watching; and when his obvious attempts are thwarted by furrowed brows or a smirk, Trevor looks away and pretends to be unabashed.
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Touch
The vampire is cold, except for when snow falls and he suddenly becomes deceitfully warm. Or perhaps Trevor is just so cold that simply having physical contact with another makes his skin bloom and his blood unthaw.
He flexes his fingers over the fire at a not-so-safe distance and tries to will his senses to come back. He can feel his efforts without actually feeling them and goddamn is this frustrating. He huffs out visible air and nestles closer to the wall of negligible warmth at his side, trying desperately to ignore the arrogant laughter that his shuffling causes.
"Shut up," he grumbles before the vampire could say a word. Waiting until the laughter dies into a low rumble, Trevor shoves his face deeper into his furry cloak, all the while scowling at the embers circling the flame.
After a minute or two, the vampire's golden eyes are upon him.
"You could always go find Sypha if that would make you more comfortable."
"And you could always go find a stake to kill yourself," he sneers. The comment is absentminded and without bite, but no less of a suggestion than it would have been if he were warmer.
Warmer, like the relatively small fire before them casting very little heat in comparison to the aftermath of an earlier snowstorm. Despite taking up shelter inside of the mouth of a cavern — which had miraculously blocked out most of the snowfall — without Sypha here the fire is insufficient and, honestly, pitiful. It was the best Trevor could do without dry supplies, and his 'wonderful' companion hadn't added much to the effort.
Trevor goes to snort, which turns into a hiccup from the cold and a sharp shiver runs down his spine. His scowl has officially become permanent. "Now tell me again why you decided not to use some of your dark magic and make the fire, I don't know, hotter? Larger? Anything more helpful than this piece of shit?"
The vampire shifts slightly, their arms now touching underneath the cloak. "I must preserve my energy in case of an attack."
"Bull."
"How so?"
"I don't fucking know, but you're not the one freezing over here so I guess that's enough of an excuse for you to not do anything," Trevor says, and now the infliction in his tone is serious. He stares into the flame as the cavern once again falls silent, thoughts going to the Speaker currently in the village below them.
The villagers had only been attacked by Dracula's night horde once, but once is enough to make any sane man cautious and terrified of anything foreign. They had given the vampire one look and said no, and their rejection was even more immediate when they spotted the Belmont family crest. Trevor would have rolled his eyes and urged his two partners to let it go so they could move on to the next town, which was only fifteen miles away. But fifteen miles is excruciatingly long when winter has set and storms pillaged whatever the demons left, and they had nothing. Literally no food, water, or other supplies.
So Sypha chose to compromise: she'd go into the village alone and buy whatever she could, and Trevor would disappear with the vampire until morning. They got what they needed, the villagers were comfortable — everyone wins.
Right.
A sudden flicker is his only warning before the fire abruptly bursts with life. It swarms and surges, blazing as if doused in oil, and Trevor jumps back, barely escaping a ferocious wave of flame near his nose. All so suddenly he's too warm, and the fire has spread to the edge of the embers once bordering it — much too close to the hem of his cloak for comfort. He shrugs it off, tossing it to the side away from smoldering dirt, before glaring at the vampire and shoving his chest.
"What the hell, vampire?" he spits, digging his knuckles as far into the other's chest as possible. His fist slips on the white shirt and slides to prod the creature's ribs.
"Is that not what you wanted?" comes the cold reply, to which Trevor narrows his eyes and begins to move away, aiming to perch himself opposite the fire so that he wouldn't have to sit by this bastard any longer, when he is stopped by a cool hand locking his fist in place. Trevor jerks his arm to test the grip and finds it surprisingly firm.
"Let go of my hand. I'm just going to sit over there-"
"The fire will revert back to its original state in about an hour, and if you're asleep when that happens you won't be able to tell when your body temperature begins to drop."
Trevor pulls his hand again. "Then you'd just wake me up. An hour's rest is about as much as I'd be able to get, anyway," he mumbles the last part, gaze intent on staying put on his bound wrist because he can clearly see gold staring down at him. Fire crackles from behind, and a gust of icy wind blows directly into the cavern; it makes Trevor's teeth chatter and he instinctively leans closer to the newfound warmth over his hand.
The vampire notices this and drops Trevor's wrist just long enough gauge his attention. "I won't allow you to freeze over something as insignificant as this. Come sunrise and we'll be meeting with Sypha to continue our journey." The dhampir's eyes seem to brighten in the red hue of the fire, accentuating their unnatural essence. It's hard for Trevor to look away, trapping him in a strong will that is more effort to fight against than to succumb to. He opens his mouth to argue, ready to push the vampire away and shout something crude, but the other beats him to it.
"Allow me to stay by your side tonight, Belmont. You will be warmer close to me."
Another gust of wind blows through the cavern, eliciting an eerie whistle like chimes caught in an echo, and the fire burning at Trevor's back seems to die. His body shivers under the vampire's touch.
"Fine. Have it your way."
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Name
"He has a name, Trevor!"
"Yeah, and a title too," he shoots a glare across the wagon, "vampire."
Sypha puffs her cheeks out in frustration before blowing out the air and slapping her palms on her knees. Her hair is frazzled under the hood of her robes, poking out above her forehead and near her ears, and an annoyed flush of pink tints her cheeks. She's cute like this, like a frustrated child and although Trevor is completely serious he can't help the teasing joy that spurs in him for making her react this way. Annoying Sypha like this has somehow become a childish stress reliever of his.
The moon lights their path through the quiet forest, and Trevor can begin to hear the rushing waters of a nearby river. He stretches his arms over the side of the wagon and wiggles his toes in his boots, trying to ebb away the numbness in them.
Sypha is still glaring at him. "How long are you going to keep this up? We've been traveling day and night with each other for nearly a month now."
"And a month isn't quite enough time for me to accept that our current driver is not only a non-human," he twirls his finger twice and then points to the bundle of silvery hair guiding the horses, "but also Dracula's son." Trevor's eyes widen in mock shock while Sypha's close. "As in the son of the vampire committing mass genocide and slaughtering innocent children, and the son of the vampire we're hunting. So no, he does not get to have a name."
Her eyes shine with cold magic when she opens them. "But he's fought by our side this entire time, and he has saved many lives — including yours. We probably wouldn't be alive right now without him!"
"This entire mess wouldn't be happening right now if it wasn't for him and his family!"
Sypha stops arguing after that. Trevor resigns himself to spreading his limbs as far as he can, taking up far too much space but Sypha doesn't comment on it. He's compensating, chewing the inside of his cheek regretfully, staring up at the litter of stars dancing around the moon, and his heart won't stop weighing down in his chest. A small part of him wants to apologize, but one cannot take back what has already been said and his apology will most likely be taken in stride and nothing more. He looks at Sypha, but she is staring ahead — no, staring at the ethereal creature leading them to the next town.
So Trevor keeps quiet and feigns sleep.
It is not until hours later, once the wagon has stopped and the horses have been tied to a thick tree, that Trevor rises from his resting place and silently climbs out of the cart. Although Sypha is definitely asleep, he's remains wary of noise as he approaches the solemn figure leaning against a tree a few meters away from them. The vampire doesn't react to him, but Trevor knows that he is awake and well aware.
Trevor places his hand on the handle of his whip, and one of the vampire's eyes open.
He speaks condescendingly. "Do you seek warmth?"
"No," Trevor smirks. "And that was a one time thing. I wanted to ask you a question."
That seems to piqued the vampire's interest, and Trevor's smirks widens when he quirks an eyebrow.
"What is it?"
"Alucard or Adrian?"
The dhampir answer right away; he seems to roll the question around his thoughts, musing over everything aspect of it while Trevor watches with curiosity. Trevor can understand, especially with how his playful argument with Sypha turned sour oh so quickly, but actually seeing the vampire think over something is strange and new and keeping his mouth shout has never been a strongpoint for him. "Can't decide which one better fits-"
Golden eyes flare like fireworks. "Alucard," the vampire says, flashing a hint of fangs.
Trevor's throat dries at the sight, his fingers curling around his whip possessively, but he nods all the same. "Alucard," he says, enjoying the way it rolls off his tongue. Trevor's lips twist into a smile. "Alucard it is then…vampire."
.
Blood
Crimson trails: florescent in bright light, dark in shadows. It courses through the veins of mankind with the fundamental purpose of trickling into intergenerational thoughts and bodies. It bypasses biology, spills on the battlefield, emphasizes horror, saves lives, and supports the creation of life.
Yet among all of these uses, stated or otherwise, lies a taboo that the House of Belmont has always been privy to.
Blood, in all of its capacity, quenches thirst.
His blood branches like leaves on a tree; Alucard's tongue follows it closely.
.
Fangs
The first time it happened, Alucard needed strength. This time, however, Trevor comes to him.
"I'm going to use the bath now," Sypha announces giddily and stands with a slight tilt, her expression rosy from piss poor ale that did little more than leave her on the brink of tipsy after three glasses. She could have handled more, as Trevor had pointed out, but she claimed to be wary from travel and wanted to remember having a hot bath after so long. He scoffed at that, having been through months without a decent bath due to excommunication and witch hunts, but waved her off with good will when she departed.
The tavern held about five other patrons, which in this time of crisis was fairly busy. No one sat near his table because of how far away Sypha seated them (good judgment on her part), but now that he was left all alone the isolation was extremely boring. So, after downing the last of his shit ale, he wraps his cloak around himself and crosses the tavern. The owner nods at him, bidding him a goodnight, and he returns the gesture before climbing the rickety staircase to their rooms.
One door open, the other closed — he suspects the opened door is Sypha's so he saunters into the other room confidently.
Alucard peers at him over the top of his book. "Are you drunk?"
"Unfortunately no," Trevor sighs. "Glad to know that's the first thing you ask me." He throws his cloak on to the single bed and then begins to undress himself, starting with his boots and then skipping up to take off his tunic.
He can practically feel Alucard's eyes on him, scrutinizing, watching his every move. He rakes a hand through oily hair, leaving on his trousers and belts holstering his daggers and whip, and approaches Alucard coolly.
The vampire knows what he wants, they both have come to an understanding and made their arrangement abundantly clear, so when Trevor stops in front of him, towering over him, and Alucard doesn't react, the Belmont feels his neck burn in embarrassment.
Alucard looks at him curiously and asks, "Is there something that you want?"
"You goddamn bastard," Trevor curses and balls his hands into fists. "You already know what I-"
He gasps as his knees are kicked out from under him and his shoulder hits the cold floor. Red flashes in his peripheral, but before he can assess where it's coming from clawed fingers are digging into his scalp and yanking his head back, exposing his throat and collar. Long strands of silvery hair frame his face, and Trevor involuntarily trembles at the downright sinful hiss in his ear.
"Is this what you wanted, Belmont?" Alucard breathes into his ear, pinning Trevor with his body all too similarly to their first confrontation. He jerks Trevor's head and the Belmont grimaces, baring his teeth.
"To be defenseless below a vampire, with loss of all control," Alucard's eyes shine an alluring, deep crimson, and he lowers his head to Trevor's neck. Sharp teeth scrape his artery threateningly. The dhampir grabs Trevor's waist possessively and whispers, "I could kill you."
"As could I," Trevor mutters, and Alucard raises an eyebrow. The vampire doesn't give him enough credit, Trevor thinks, for when he shifts his weight to crawl up the hunter's body Trevor quickly frees his arm and the holy whip snaps in the air. The crack resounds like thunder, coiling itself around Alucard's neck as if on instinct.
Trevor smirks when he spots the searing flesh on Alucard's cheek; it was nothing to cause concern, a mere scratch, closing up and healing almost immediately. The vampire was once again an image of perfection.
Alucard retaliates by clamping down on Trevor's throat without warning.
.
Alucard
The demon's scream resonates in his skull, hammering and pounding against bone, raking his brain mercilessly and it feels like internal torture. He screams but the woman's cry is louder, like a cacophony, and it's all so much so much so much-
"Trevor!"
He hears Sypha's voice over the endless wailing and his voice breaks when he shouts for her, blindly reaching out to find her. His hand fumbles through air, brushing against nothingness. He can still hear the screaming, but now his chest feels as if it's constricting. Crushing his lungs and heart and now oxygen is forsaking him and he can't breathe. His body is engulfed in an inferno of agony and he can't breathe. Why can't he breathe? Where is Sypha? Why is she yelling and why can't he find her? Where is she? She can't be far. She has to be near. He can hear her.
If only he could see.
If only he could…
The world suddenly stops, and all goes still. Rising above the midst overcasting the sky in pure white is a figure upon a wolf of darkness, its grotesque wings spread wide enough to swallow the earth. The figure, shrouded in beauty and mystery, transforms into a man before Trevor's eyes and lashes out in anger, raining fire upon the land.
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Adrian
It's snowing outside the mouth of the hollow groove, but he's warm here.
Trevor sips his soup gingerly, his face contorting in disgust but he tries not to let Sypha see it, especially since she slaved over the fire for a full hour boiling herbs and worrying over him. She wasn't the target of the succubus, so her injuries were limited to a few cuts and bruises, the same as Alucard.
Trevor, however…
He pushes the fight to the back of his mind and focuses on the foul liquid obscuring his taste buds. He tilts the bowl to drink some more, pressing back into the wall of warmth.
Alucard's — rather, Adrian's hum is velvety.
"Seems like you're enjoying your meal," Adrian says, to which Trevor swallows a haughty laugh and places the soup down by the embers before he could spill it.
He twists in the dhampir's arms until they are facing each other, and buries himself in the unnatural heat. The position puts pressure on his arm (it was dislocated but Sypha shoved it back into place with precise, yet fiercely strong, hands) and the ache is a reminder that he is alive, and that this is real.
"It's disgusting," he grumbles into Adrian's shoulder.
"Tell that to Sypha."
"No."
"Then stop complaining about it," the bastard quips. What Trevor wants to do is punch that discreetly masked smirk off of Adrian's face, and perhaps he would have if said bastard hadn't ran his hands through Trevor's hair and pulled him farther into their embrace.
Trevor feels a set of words balancing on the tip of his tongue, ready to plunge out and sink into the lips and mind and heart of Adrian, but he doesn't speak. He remains silent, wrapped in the comfort of a being beyond his comprehension.
He allows Adrian to kiss him, deeply, on his lips.
"You goddamn vampire."