Hellsing belongs to Kohta Hirano. And I doubt he would approve of this.
I lifted my head to look out the window and saw that the sky was lightening, very slightly, far in the distance from black to midnight blue. The sun would be up soon, in something like an hour and a half by my estimation, but the night's business hadn't yet been completed, there was so much left to do—rather to say. I hoped most of it could wait and looked upon my companion quietly. His eyes were reddened from crying, the lines in his face brought out sharply by his torment. I smiled; that pain always amused me, no matter if I wished otherwise, he knew that, and didn't hold it against me. The sound of his hushed sobbing sent little courses of pleasure through my body, but ignored them, for his sake, and rested my hand on his shoulder.
He was perfect in so many ways; able to take such punishment, strong in body and will, an endless feeding supply, hot-blooded in every sense of the word. I could take pleasure in killing him again and again, knowing he would come back to me quickly, and best of all…best of all, he would never age, never truly die, and never, ever leave. But tonight he was being…difficult.
I realized that he had left everything behind, and he had done it because of me. I felt no guilt. It didn't matter anymore, and he'd soon learn that. I leaned down to kiss his shoulder, cold dry lips against his dark heated skin. He wiped his eyes and tried to compose himself—he was so beautiful, I groaned indecently. He asked for a glass of water, I drifted away from him higher into the house, and brought back a cold bottle of water and a sandwich for him. I knew he hadn't eaten tonight, and he needs much food to fuel his unusual body.
When I sat again beside him, he leaned his weight against me and thanked me quietly for the water and food, taking each in silence. He looked so tired and I turned again to the window, asking him if he would miss his home, he answered that he'd not really had a home to begin with. I nodded and turned back watch him eat, the muscles in his strong neck working as he swallowed a few gulps of water. I could hear his pulse, steady, slow and strong, and I ran my hand into his unruly blond hair, fighting the urge to force him back onto the bed and take him, rip his throat out in a spray of hot red. He finished his small meal, setting the half empty bottle on the nightstand, and turned to look out the window himself. He sighed and remarked that I'd have to leave him alone soon. I reminded him that I could take some sun, and then leaned in to touch my lips to his own and invited him to spend the day in my chambers, even deeper down into the belly of the mansion than was his small prison-like room. The concern he expressed that my Master should find him missing the following day made me laugh, she, after all, was not his Master. He was silent for a time, then nodded and leaned harder against me.
He had never before been to my chamber, it was dank and dark, windowless, cold probably. I sat him on my bed and watched him for some long minutes, he was still lost in himself, one strong hand idly running over the large crucifix that hung about his neck, stark against the tan flesh of his bare chest. After another moment, that hand gave a tug and the trinket came away on a broken chain, he tossed it into a dark corner of the room then lay back, watching me in turn. I joined him in repose, slipping cold arms around him as I let him lay his head on my own narrow chest, pressing himself to me. Tomorrow night, I would have blankets brought in for him, and this would be his place.
I stroked through his hair and watching him sleep for hours, his face belying the torment of his dreams. I smiled again…yes, his pain would make me love him for years to come.