A/N: The first chunk has (sacrilegious though not incredibly graphic) period cunnilingus. Be thee warned! Skip to the first breakline if you want to avoid that.
"I smell blood on you," he tells her before she even gets her coat off.
"Oh." The girl seems surprised. "Yeah, my period. Sorry – didn't realize you'd notice. Um. Do you want to reschedule?"
"Reschedule?" he repeats, incredulous. "Because you're bleeding? Me?"
She arches eyebrows; she's always been careful about fluids. But they've been meeting for months, and she's coming to trust him. "All right," she says at last.
She disappears into the bathroom and, as usual, emerges in character. It's not the latex this time – but she's got her head covered, and she's wearing a plain, loose dress that suggests a habit.
She holds her hand out to him solemnly – low.
He kneels. This puts him even closer to the smell and he can hear his breath start to harshen.
She pulls her skirt up over her hips and steps one foot onto a chair to spread herself for him. He stares at her. Thirsts for her. (And enjoys the anticipation of finally satisfying that thirst; he can't remember ever waiting for someone this long.).
Then she says: "This is my blood."
He recoils, hissing – he's never heard the ritual in English but it's as unmistakable as it is unbearable. "The blood of the new and everlasting covenant." He's panting so loudly he can hear himself, gripping his thighs so hard he pierces his own skin. He wants to cower, to hide, to roll around in sandpaper until he can scour the words off him. He can't handle this.
She finishes anyway, undisturbed by the force of his reaction. "It will be shed for you." She reaches between her legs with one hand, and holds two red-streaked fingers out to him. "For you," she repeats, more conversational. "Go ahead."
After what she just did to him he needs this. He seizes her wrist with both hands to suck at her (and clings with everything he has to the imperative that he must not bite.). Her fingers are soon finished but the source is still there, near and open and bleeding, and he presses into it so forcefully he nearly bowls her over.
She spreads her hand on his head gently, like a blessing. He shudders and laps harder.
The room usually feels like a warm, comfortable study, but today the rugs are gone and the stone is cold. The lights are dim and far away. He can hear distant dripping.
Agatha is facing him, but unlike most times she doesn't seem relaxed. She is as tense as she'd been at the gates - and as ready to fight. "I see you've redecorated," she says. "Who is that?"
He realizes in that instant that the girl is with him and that he's holding her hand. That surprises him a little; he hasn't actually bitten her (he hopes) and he's not actually drinking from her veins. He notices she feels less solid in his grip than she does in his apartment.
He has a glass in his free hand; he takes a sip. "Agatha, I'd like you to meet a new friend of mine," he says pleasantly. "She's the one who redecorated. She likes dungeons."
"Oh-!" the girl scoffs at him, laughing, and pulls her hand free. "Come on."
"You do!" he laughs right back. "It's the first thing you told me, when I wrote you. Remember? Sounds right up my alley, you said, I love gothic! Castles and dungeons. You name it."
Agatha clears her throat pointedly. "Isn't she a little young for you, Count? Say... by about five hundred years or so?"
Her tone is harsh and not at all playful. He can guess why – she's a woman, isn't she? "Don't be jealous," he chides, crossing the room to her with a bit of swagger. "You turned me down, remember? You wouldn't invite me in. You set a mob on me. You even lit me on fire."
"And would again," she says immediately. To the girl: "You would be wise to do the same." She regards more carefully. "So who is she? You're able to talk to her without stammering like a besotted schoolboy, so I'm assuming she is not the painted nun from your video."
He shakes his head. "Unfortunately the woman from the video was... unattainable," he explains. "There was no practical way to take her without a commotion of massive proportions."
"Take her?" the girl speaks up. "Were you seriously thinking of kidnapping Lady Gaga?"
Agatha seizes on her question. "Oh, don't let it shock you," she says, "There is no level to which Count Dracula will not stoop."
"Careful," he growls. If she spoils things for him he will be furious. (And what can he do about it? She's dead and well beyond his reach.).
"The first time I met the count he was crawling out of the belly of a wolf," she goes on, ignoring him. "It was the most disgusting thing I had ever seen in my life. He emerged naked, writhing on the ground covered in blood – and I knew at once he was no man, no matter what his form looked like."
The talk of blood and nakedness, the memory of that night, riles him up in ways other than anger. He engages. "Oh, for heaven's sake! Babies come out naked and covered in blood, too," he points out. He enjoys fighting with her. "And I don't see you complaining about them."
She snorts. "You'd love to do like a baby, wouldn't you." A hundred years hasn't dulled that contempt. "Latch yourself on and nurse at that poor girl's breast for as long as you wanted, take from her all you wanted, just take and take and take."
He's very close to her now, so close that she has to look up to meet his eyes. He lets out a rumbling laugh, soft, only for her. "I'd latch on to someone, certainly."
"Keep dreaming," she sneers, and he could swear she enjoys fighting with him too. "You've had all you'll ever get from me. But still you're starving for more." She tosses her head. "You will starve forever."
He gives a long-suffering sigh and addresses the girl. "See?" he says. "Do you see what I've been dealing with?"
The girl is watching intently. "Yeah. I do."
So Agatha turns to her as well. "Don't let him fool you, child," she says. "He's wit and charm and mystery when it suits him, but he kills for pleasure and with no remorse. Dracula is cruel and dangerous. He is evil."
At that he interrupts her. "You're wasting your time, Agatha. They don't believe in evil anymore, where she comes from."
Agatha looks from him to the girl and back again, several times. She's cold and certain. "They will."
Back in his apartment, the girl has gone to pieces under his mouth. Hanging onto his hair is no longer enough to keep her upright; he has to stand and scoop her into his arms.
She lays there like a bride, limp except for the twitching of her muscles in the aftermath of pleasure. "Wow," she breathes against his chest. "Holy fuck."
He snorts. His craving has been, if not satisfied, at least made manageable, and he's able to put his teeth away and talk normally. "Not in character anymore, I see."
"Yeah. Sorry. Oh my god." She helps situate herself on the couch when he sets her down. "I don't think I've come that hard ever. Wow." She looks at him a little more carefully. "I think I hallucinated."
He hesitates. Tell her? He hates to risk what they have, especially now that they have added such a delightful new activity to their repertoire.
But he can't hide forever. "Do you remember it?"
Her brow draws and she chews her lip. "Some," she answers at last. "We were talking to a nun. A real nun," she adds, laughing. "A much better nun than me."
"Oh, don't say that," he scolds warmly. "You are hands down the best nun... who's ever had an orgasm in my mouth." He watches her smile and touch his face with affection. She looks almost drugged.
"I don't remember all of it," she confesses. Yawns. She will probably fall asleep soon. "I did figure out one thing, though."
"Oh?" There can be wonderful insights in the blood-dreams, he knows that. "What thing?"
"Hm? Oh. That I know I'm good at roleplay, and a little bit of blood stuff is okay. So I hope you're having fun with me," she murmurs, eyes closing, "But. I realized it'll never be perfect for you. You've got a-" she yawns again "-A really, like, deep need."
Damn Agatha for frightening the girl! He's told her what he is, but until now she's never seemed to believe it enough to become disturbed. "Don't worry about that." He takes her hand in both of his and addresses her with all of the grave sincerity he can muster. "I can, and I will, control my thirst where you are concerned."
The girl yawns once more, shaking her head. "No no," she says. "Not blood. I meant, her."
The End.
Sorry it's not exactly a happy ending! But his kink needs are way easier to satisfy than his agatha needs, which are going to fester sadly forever because that's what happens when you kill the object of your infatuation. Live and learn, Count. Oh well!
Hope you enjoyed! I'm glad there was more here than just a cracky one-shot. Let me know what you thought.