A/N: -cuts chapter in half because of growing length-
-ends up writing the rest of the chapter twice as long as the first increment-

Wow, I really don't know what PWP means, eh?
Regardless; if the chapter makes you:

1) Get you hot and bothered
2) Your eyes water.
3) Fool you into thinking that I've actually read Hellsing/watched the anime/ova in their entirety
or

4) A combination of any of the above,

then I have successfully completed my objective.

In all seriousness, reviews are super appreciated; I'm especially interested in feedback for this particular piece since it's my first time writing erotica (if it's considered such a thing?). And don't worry, this story is not finished. Let me know what more you guys want to see.

quid pro quo
(II)

"W—Walter?!"

If she had any more time to be able to appreciate just how genuinely shocked he looked, she would have laughed; the last time she ever saw such an expression on his was upon his betrayal and— oh, right. That's why she doesn't dwell on it too much. In a way that's very much her own, Seras realizes she held him rather painfully; she nearly drops him in her panic, "Oh bloody— I'm so sorry! I just thought… I was walking here to get some blood-bags, and I mean, I smelled something but I just didn't pay attention and —damn it! I'm terribly sorry! I didn't hurt you, did I? Master was just telling me that I've been too lax and I haven't been and—" She's aware of her rambling to an extent, though is too pent up about Walter's state. Oh no, her mind screams, what if he accuses me of trying to kill him?! What if I hurt him? Truly? Does he hate me even more now?

But she has no more time to entertain her little frenzy, because she is cut off with a laugh. His laugh. Her mouth runs dry. Seras blinks at him, arms stilled from their constant flailing; she's never seen Walter… laugh. Not like this. "Miss Victoria," her ears perk up at that; she hasn't heard Walter refer her like that in a while… and especially not in his young voice. "No need to work up such a fuss; I'm quite alright. I suppose even with such a young body, I have some training to revisit, eh? My, the last time I was ever caught by surprise like that was… quite a while! I'm impressed! Your skills are vastly improving." His smile is a little unsure if anything, but genuine.

Seras gulps; seeing him up close for more than a couple of seconds, is almost jarring. She notices little things; minute observations and details she couldn't have noticed before from watching him at a distance, even with her enhanced vision. Like how Walter is very capable of looking like anything else other than calm and collected; he can smile like any other man, and his hair isn't always sleeked back, or how he has a left dimple when he quirks his lips up like that, and— he looks different with his hair out of that ponytail and without that monocle. She scratches her cheek, unused to so many compliments and overwhelmed with her new findings, before smiling herself and marveling at her own reaction. She's embarrassed, but Walter does a good job at not making her feel like an idiot over it. "I… Well, coming from you, that's surely a compliment. But really, I'm very sorry; I should have been paying more attention..."

"Please, no more squabble; I assure you, I'm fine," he dusts himself off and turns toward the refrigerator. "Let's just be thankful no real harm was done, yes?" He opens the door, situating himself inside and grabbing exactly what she wants. He throws a chilly blood-bag her way. "I imagine this is what you were after; I don't think you'd be here wandering this part of the manor otherwise. Can't sleep either?"

"Not even marginally…" You don't know the half of it… She murmurs a quiet thank you for the bag, easily catching it mid-air before getting to work with it, feeling nothing but sweet relief at the taste once the liquid hits her tongue. She also takes notice that this would be the first time she's seen… this Walter in such lax clothing; a simple white t-shirt and grey flannel pants. Hm, surprisingly something more modern looking. She snaps herself out of her observations; her brow raises very carefully after a moment after she realizes he's grabbed one for himself. "...You drink?"

"Mm? Oh, indeed… Apparently, despite me becoming a vampire through a rather… nontraditional method, I crave the sustenance regardless, as it were," he takes a moment to reflect, nimble fingers idly twiddling the straw of the bag like it's fascinating; it's a hypnotizing movement, "Although, it's not to the point where I can't eat anything else; this just happens to fill me up more adequately."

Seras blinks a couple of times, shaking herself out of her little staring game and pouts, "Bloody lucky; at least you can taste the food. I miss eating sweets the most." She shakes her head, now clutching the bag with something akin to contempt. "I noticed you were bleeding again… are you alright? It doesn't seem like those pills are helping out too much..." The last bit comes out as a murmur more than anything, "It's a little worrying, is all. Sometimes you still cough out blood, yes? Are you in constant pain?"

His lack of an immediate response makes her think that she's said something wrong; upon looking at his expression —eyes averted, light tapping of the bag, lips pressed together— she panics a little. Did I offend him? Did I say too much? "I… I'm alright; I'm just still adjusting; really, it looks worse than it actually feels. It's… different, being in this body… I'm still unsure..." He wipes the dribble of blood with the back of his hand.

What does that mean? After a moment, she starts prodding at the bag, "I mean, I bet you're happy to be so young again, yes? No more back aches and stuff at least..."

At that, he cracks a smile; that makes her chest expel some pressure, but it doesn't eradicate it. He still isn't looking at me, and it is here she begins to grow slightly uneasy. "It's a vast improvement, don't mistake my words; but I'm still trying to get used to… some things..." She doesn't miss the slight change in his voice; like it cracks at the last words… almost like he's embarassed.

Without even realizing it, she's angled herself to him in such a way that, surely, he must look at her, without invading serious territory. It's a lot less chilly in the fridge than she initially thought; though that sort of came with being an enhanced creature and she figures he's on the same boat. Though she's small, she knows the presence she carries as a No Life Queen and everything that comes with the title. She leans against the shelves, uncaring for the rigid metal trays digging into her side. Walter is hunched ever, forearms and elbows resting on the rails, and he still towers over her immensely; he's as tall as Alucard, but the fact is more apparent up close. When he eyes her, finally, she's marginally pleased, and tries to ignore the spark of thrill that travels up her spine; his eyes are literally gleaming, much like that fateful day… is it part of the vampiric traits Millenium gave him? Walter's eyes weren't that colour before… were they?— "What… uh, what kind of things?"

"New things," he licks his lips; a very mundane and quick gesture, but one that she sees a tad slower than the average mortal being and she's entranced with the movement. Shit, I'm bloody losing it. Thankfully, he doesn't notice. "Or rather, things that I've forgotten… How they've felt like..." That shouldn't sound sinful and she blames her dirty, deprived mind, and her enhanced senses and heightened intuition; surely she must be imagining things that she wants to be present. Her throat feels so parched and it's ridiculous she should even be this affected by anyone. His expression changes only marginally, but it makes a world of a difference, because the way he suddenly looks at her nearly freezes her on the spot. His eyes flicker to her lips and then back to her eyes; it's so minute, it's over in an instant and she just knows that he probably didn't even mean to do that as he turns away from her. Already, he shakes his head rather vigorously, as if catching himself, and runs a hand through his undone hair in slight frustration, "Ah, I don't process things like I should be, I suppose. I just feel… quite ancient," he says this part more to himself than her, a sad and small and quiet confession, and she inches forward out of pure human habit and almost places a hand on his shoulder, wanting to console him. A sharp tug of his shoulders lets her know he breathes out a scoff, and she stops her hand from going any further, and when he turns to her his smile seems just a tad forced, "You're still quite young after all," he more says this as if trying to convince himself, "I no doubt am just being an old man about it..."

Seras is left… oddly hollow, if a little offended because what is that supposed to mean anyway? I'm not that young— like he just landed a blow on her stomach. He can't just… look at me like that and then try to blow me off… What's wrong with— Is he—? "I'm afraid I'm not following; are you embarrassed about feeling things in a new way?" Her tone is challenging and brazen, absolutely daring him to be honest.

He looks affronted now, and it makes Seras feel like a slight bitch in the moment, "I— I apologize; I'm just… sort of thinking out loud, Miss Victoria. I may be young now, but I'm afraid my mind is very still in its' seventies. You would think with such advanced science, they could have fixed that too," he sighs, as if disgusted with himself; disappointed. "I still forget things; even silly, small things. I have my strength back, but I'm too clumsy with it; I've broken many vases and glassware already. I don't hunch anymore, thus at my full height; I've bumped into much of the staff and I believe they think I'm doing it on purpose. I have a feeling that's mostly why Integra has me attending to weeds rather than stay inside the manor," he looks at his hand as an aged man would look at his tremors; but his hands are unshakable and still as stone. He's embarrassed, not knowing how to deal with himself, with his new body.

Why is he putting himself down?

"Well," she snaps, albeit good-naturedly, and he looks at her with a bemused and acquiescent brow; now he's the one unsettled, on the spotlight "It's a learning experience; you're learning to be young," she shrugs and tilts her head, "… that's all. Everyone goes through it; you just happen to be going through it a second time." That makes him smile; one that's reminiscent of when he was in his old body and that sends butterflies to her stomach, of all things. "You'll get the hang of it; just don't push yourself. Enjoy it, you know? It's nothing to be ashamed of; I don't believe everyone gets the luxury of being young again. Which by the way, reminds me; how old are you now, exactly?"

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly; such movements so normal for a young person and it's bizarre to know it's Walter doing this. She wonders, in that moment, how he truly was when he was this age; that would have been nice to see. "You're going to think me daft, but I'm actually not sure of it myself; I do believe the ultimate goal was to just get me in my prime, although if they really wanted such a thing, they should have just reverted me back to when I was fourteen..."

"I like this form better." And shit—! She didn't just say that, did she? Right?! That bloody did not come out right. The words had come so naturally, so easily! And bloody hell, damn it, damn it! Okay, this could still be easily fixed; nevermind the bemused look he's giving her, this isn't the time to over-analyze everything again, she needs to think! "Ah… I mean," she sputters, chest tightening, "I—I d-don't think… I mean, I don't believe Sir Integra would want another child running around the manor… Not that you'd actually be a child! I mean… err…" Kill me. Kill me now please. Becoming a vampire was a mistake if it led her to this very awkward moment. She should have let herself be raped and killed that night by that bloody priest; that would be more tolerable than this—

He clears his throat as he averts his gaze, albeit a little uncertainty, and she thinks for one horrid second she has disgusted him… until she can plainly see the amusement in the quirk of his lips. "I believe I know what you mean Miss Victoria. Thank you."

"R-r-right then," she turns away abruptly, trying to get her act together. "S-so, h-having that said, I've been wondering something, Walter."

"What's that, now?"

She's twiddling her fingers now, feeling very fidgety. "I… well, what I'm trying to say is… Have you been—?" But just as the true meaning of her intended words start to bleed onto her tongue, she changes direction last second. Bah, I'm such a blasted coward. Her shoulders sag in defeat. "I mean, have you been faring well with… not exactly being human?" She turns him then, a little less than thrilled with her own change of the subject, but she powers through anyway. "Did you ever think you would… become a vampire?"

She notices, now of all times, that whenever he seems bothered or uncertain, his eyes avert and he needs to keep his hands —his fingers— busy, somehow, someway. Old Walter would look as calm as ever and stay as still as a statue; young Walter is expressive, almost easy to read if his story wasn't filled with blue-penciled annotations and doubl-entendres. He reverts to this mannerism for a little longer than he has all night, "I… well, it's not like I never had the offer on the table before." Alucard, she thinks. "I'm not exactly thrilled, per se, though I'm less excited at being a fake. And yet, to be honest, in a way, I'm glad things turned out like this…" he seems to catch his words, eyes narrowing in thought before hastily correcting himself, "What I mean is; I never exactly envied Alucard in that sense. I'm still much more human, despite everything; the only difference now is that I'm young and I have enhanced abilities. I don't need blood, I don't need to hunt to feed and I could still go out into the sun without dying. It's almost a blessing, if an odd one. The only downside is that my inevitable end is prolonged, that's all."

She sympathizes with most of what he's saying, but… With surprising candidness, she juts her chin out, "Why would that be a downside? Dying later, I mean." She truly didn't understand his discomfort with being young; even if there were obstacles, she expected him to be ecstatic!

He smiles knowingly, with age and wisdom she has yet to acquire and it makes her feel a pang of jealousy. "My time was to be soon; there's just a point at a certain age, with everything you've lived through, all the things you've seen and experienced, you look forward to leaving peacefully. Not to confuse it with some morbid fantasy, mind you; I just mean it in the same way one looks forward to some sleep at the end of a long day." Despite herself, she clutches the blood bag in her hand, now empty, with inexplicable envy. She would never get to experience that in the way he has and the fact only hits her now... Something in her expression must have given herself away, because Walter is now gently ushering her out the cold room. She tries not to show how much the ghost of his hand hovering her shoulder affects her. "Come now, enough about this talk of death and such; you're absolutely right Miss Victoria, I'll enjoy this opportunity, as unorthodox as it has been presented to me."

She has no time to protest, not that she's inclined to, and steps out, now following him. He's kind enough to dispose of their now empty blood bags.

"Seras," she says simply, abruptly.

Walter blinks twice before turning back to her, "I beg your pardon?"

She smiles softly at his lost expression, "You've been calling me Miss Victoria all night; seems kind of odd to me that someone as young as you is referring to me with such pleasantries mister."

Seras doesn't hide the slyness in her tone, and he catches on to it because now he's smiling back with as much mischief as hers, if sincere. "Seras, then. But only if you refrain from ever calling me Walter Sir ever again. I'm afraid that was reserved for my grandfather, and I don't think it very much applies anymore as I am."

"Indeed. What does the 'C' in your name stand for, anyway?"

"Trust me; you don't want to know."

"That's not exactly fair."

They're out in the hallways, and it hits Seras that this technically does mean they should be walking back down to their respective rooms. It weighs on her like a stone, all of a sudden, and she finds herself wanting to do anything else besides going in her cramped coffin alone. She blinks as a realization hits her and her mouth goes dry again because —well, she wouldn't mind being in that cramped coffin… as long as she wasn't alone. She gulps, painfully. Well… alright then. She knows she's being exaggerated, she knows this, but her lack of experience tramples over everything and it makes her queasy and nervous and how would she even— Something snaps in her, and she makes a firm decision before anything else. She stops; though her hands tremble a little, as does her confidence, her determination doesn't. This needs to be figured out first; because who knows how many more nights she won't sleep if she doesn't. "Walter," she says pointedly, and enough to get his attention.

He turns again and he can tell that she needs to say something important. "...Mis— Yes, Seras? What is it? What's wrong?" The look in her eyes is unlike what he's seen before and he doesn't know what emotion to associate with it, but it makes him anticipate her next words almost nervously. He sees the bite of her lips and the clench of her fists and—

"Have you been avoiding me?" In hindsight, she supposes this sounds out of nowhere and she's afraid he might perceive it that way because it would mean that she has been over-thinking this whole thing and—

Except Walter stills… and he stills very instantly.

Relief and trepidation clench her insides. But his response provides her some more determination. She chews on her lip just a little more before speaking, and a little bit louder this time, just in case he couldn't —or didn't want to— hear her over the heavy rain outside.

"Because… because it just seemed that for the duration of your time here after the Millenium battle, you… didn't want to talk to me. Was I wrong?" He releases something of a sigh, shaky and contemplating; she wrings her hands well and hard in nervousness. "You wouldn't even look at me when I would greet you." Still no response, but he's not denying it either; this is progress, so she takes a step or two further. "I thought… I thought you hated me." At that, he clenches his jaw and this piques her interest, but she continues. "I thought. I was proven wrong tonight. You seem to tolerate me just fine," she smiles at her own joke, and musters the courage, "… but I just wanted to say that… I'm sorry."

Now what's interesting is that he blinks; like he's lost. "W-what…?" he breathes out.

Taking a deep breath, she clarifies, "I'm sorry for what I said; for what I didn't do that night. When you told me… when you told me you were brainwashed and forced to fight Alucard," saying it loud is a simultaneous humiliation and relief; it feels good to have it out in the open, to finally confess her worries, "And… all I said to you was take care. I've felt so horrible about it since then; when that bastard told us, we only managed to barely tell Alucard and I just kept thinking to myself, He told me… Walter told me, even if you delivered it in sarcasm, you said it, to me no less; and how all I said was thank you as if that somehow showed I cared about you and—" she only stops because she feels her throat welling up and hot, traitorous tears are blurring her vision, staining it with red. She wipes them before they can fall because she doesn't need them to; Walter talked to her, he laughed with her just now, he isn't mad at her. She smiles, "I just… I just needed to get that off my chest; it's been bothering me for the longest time..."

Alucard had been right about something; she has been getting too lax. She hadn't noticed when Walter took steps into her space; it's not that he's too close, but it's close enough to have her stifle a gasp at the unexpected and sudden proximity. She blinks twice, words clogging at the back of her throat. He's looking at her rather peculiarly; not smiling, but not exactly frowning. She realizes he's studying her… and then he inches closer. She can just faintly make out his familiar features; indeed, this is definitely Walter alright. Same eyes, same mouth, heck, even the same jawline. Features on a person didn't change, not at their core; the only difference being that he had youthful, wrinkle-free skin again, and she was able to actively appreciate these features more. The palm of his hand —his fingers— ghost over her cheek and whether out of intuition, instinct, or some cosmic force she has no control over, Seras closes her eyes half expecting in her self-placed wondrous and momentary delusion, a kiss, though she does no other movements for such an action.

He smells of worn out clothes, moist soil, light cigar, and whatever that natural scent of his is; it's familiar, it's Walter, and she wonders why she hasn't bothered to notice it before.

Which, in retrospect, is stupid because she knows exactly why.

There's an agonizing moment of tense nothing and she wonders if he's left her standing there like an idiot. But her eyes flutter when she feels soft fabric just under the corner of her eye. She looks back up to see him smiling, and genuinely so; she clutches the handkerchief pressed against her cheek, absorbing a crimson droplet that fell without her consent. "I appreciate that. I appreciate that immensely, Seras, but you have nothing to feel sorry for, and I'm sorry if I ever gave you that impression."

—she can't help it, she grins.

And call it jitters or just plain stupidity on her part —or rather, both— Seras briefly considers just outright asking him if he'd wanted to kiss her just now. Thankfully, the thought doesn't manifest into words. She uses the —thankfully— black handkerchief to dab at her bloody tears. "Sorry about that; I'll make sure to thoroughly wash it before giving it back."

He's already stepped away and is too many paces farther than her, and she tries to pretend that doesn't sink her heart a little. Bah, I'm starting to become clingy. "Keep it, I insist; I feel like it would have more uses in your possession."

"Is that just a very gentlemanly way of saying that I'm a crybaby?"

"What? Please, that's just nonsense..." oh, she can hear the smirk in that one and trots to catch up to him.

"You fucking wanker," she covers her mouth, stifling a giggle and half expecting him to be mad. To her delight, he chuckles.

"Such a mouth on you, Seras; I do wonder how Alucard deals with the likes of you sometimes."

She shrugs, pocketing the piece of soft fabric in her pink pajama pants. "Would you mind if I walk you to your room? I'm… not exactly eager to sleep in my bloody coffin tonight," releasing a pent up sigh, she shakes her head, "This might be silly but… I actually haven't been able to sleep because of… well, you know." The halls seem more convoluted and long than she remembers; but then again, she's never gone on the top of the manor for blood or run into Walter at such an hour. She doesn't mind.

"Of course you can, but..." Walter seems genuinely bemused at such a confession, if only a little guilty. "Truly? I apologize that I've caused you such distress Seras," he sighs, suddenly looking very tired and good bloody job Seras! "But then again, I suppose I distressed everyone out in some way when that happened, didn't I? If only I hadn't been so… so blasted weak I could have..."

Her hands are held out in a placating manner before she can stop herself, "Please, don't feel compelled to say such things Walter. I..." she bites her lip, wanting to find the right words, "I didn't mean to bring anything ugly up; nobody blames you. You shouldn't blame yourself either, you're only human..."

"Was," he corrects half-heartedly, tired and bitter.

"Regardless, we're not perfect no matter what we are. We aren't gods, not even as vampires," she shrugs, suddenly feeling worn out herself, "Even if we'd like to be. What those bloody bastards did to you was inexcusable, but you couldn't have fought against it at the time. The important thins if you're here, back to us alive and well, and heck you get to live longer, pshh; that's a bonus! You're back home and perhaps Sir Integra and even Alucard don't express themselves too well, but I think you and I both know they're more than happy that you are." She gives a firm nod, despite thinking that perhaps she pushed that bit too far. She doesn't need to remind Walter, of all people, how those two act. He's known them for such a long, unfathomably long, time; it seems pretty silly to say what he surely knows at this point. To at least marginally justify her little spiel, she throws herself a thumb her way, "Well, I'm happy; and anyway, that's all you really need."

He laughs again, and she finds that she likes she can make him do so, just with her own words and person. "Oh Seras Victoria, you… you are indeed something else," he actually wipes a tear or two that had been welling up in his eyes, "But thank you. I mean that, truly, Seras. Thank you for everything you've done for me." He gives her a knowing smirk; those are her words. She lightly smacks him on the arm for that. "Excuse me, miss, but I do believe that's elder abuse..."

"Oh come off it; that doesn't apply to you anymore," they share a laugh.

When they reach to the lower levels, she realizes just how much calmer the storm outside has become; the full moon spills its' light graciously through the binds, bleeding through the crevices of the curtains. She mourned the loss of being able to appreciate the sunrise in the mornings, but she also greatly appreciated to truly bask in the moonlight when the moon fully rose, big and beautiful, blinding, even. The harsh light didn't blind her and even served as a source of comfort despite the past she's shared with it; she used to be afraid of it… her parents were killed on a full moon, no less than like this one. The intruding fact makes her eyes lower and her mouth grow grim.

"This would be my stop for the night," Walter's voice cuts in, and then he turns to her, and speaks in a softer tone "… are you alright, Seras?"

She blinks at him and wants to hit herself for being so dumb. "I… Yes, sorry, just had a," she lightly taps her head, "...a rather dumb memory. Please, don't mind me." Another pause, "I thought… I thought your room was more down, near Alucard's and mine?"

"That was when I was the official Hellsing butler; Integra was kind enough to… give me a little bit more space, now that I'm essentially not maintaining the organization's vampires. It's an old guest room that we've never used before in the past, much more spacious..." he talks just to fill the silence, but he still doesn't look too convinced at her new mood, "Penny for your thoughts?" he asks more softly.

—and suddenly, she's thinks just how nice he looks like that against the moonlight; just in that perfect angle, right there. His eyes look blazing, alive and attentive. Something grips her chest in that moment; only a few hours ago, no… less than an hour ago, she would have denied what she really wanted to do, and would just excuse it with panic or deprivation or even blatant fear. But… now? Now, she doesn't want to fight it.

Not anymore.

"It's…" her breath hitches, and she really tries not to let the inexperienced jitters seize her steady thought process, not now, please not now of all times— She swallows almost audibly, and presses her wet lips together before slightly sagging in defeat, "…it's nothing. Really, you don't need to worry about me Walter..." She's already turned away.

—coward, coward, coward.

"Forgive my bluntness, Seras, but I'm not sure I believe that." Seras can feel his approaching and if she weren't such a little, scared, bloody twit, she would wait, just to see what he does.

But she's already turning around to face him, hands up on the defensive and what am I doing? What am I doing? "Really, please; it's nothing serious I just—" Why am I… pushing away—? When he's so close?

Walter though? He doesn't believe her, not even for a second; her smile is much too bright to be genuine. Perhaps she can fool the masses, but with old age comes a few tricks; he's picked up on her habits, even when he hasn't meant to. He knows when she's distressed, sad, happy, nervous; he's made it his personal mission to do so, not out of admiration or want, but out of pure necessity, to keep Hellsing's vampires in check and report to Sir Integra if— Except, no. Not really; because he's not Integra's butler anymore, the weight of such a responsibility doesn't fall on him. But this bothers him, and he doesn't appreciate it. His hands ache to touch, to hold— he knows she needs comfort. That unnatural, cheerful and false smile is meant to lure him to mind his own business, but he won't have it. Not when the crinkle in her eyes indicate an urge to cry. His hands tremble when he almost reaches her ear, so he changes direction and pats her head instead. A familial and kind gesture, innocent in its' entirety. "Please… You can trust me Seras… there's no need to hide yourself from me," and he means it. Fully and truthfully; he means it in a way that is meant to be between good friends. Even if… he wants something more,

—but this is enough; it's more than enough.

Seras's breath hitches and tries to ignore the wobble of her lip that comes with it. Her eyes aren't blurry anymore and she doesn't have the urge to cry, but she's overwhelmed with emotion, need, want, this and that all at once.

"Would you like to spend the night? You could have the bed, if you wish. I have a spare futon… I don't mind; I know you never got used to the coffin," he laughs slightly, regarding her with a kind and knowing smile, "Sorry about throwing your bed away so long ago..." He has the urge to feel like this is inappropriate and then he thinks about all this; she's a capable woman of stature and ability, he is not disrespecting her and he isn't her parental figure. He's young again and he can build friendships; real and honest ones that offer each other a mutual shoulder for support, without the sneaking suspicion of treason or backstabbing. He trusts her and he knows it's reciprocated, she's proven that.

But the world her around feels like it's on mute; sounds are bleak and her vision is blurred, except him. And even though she knows full well he doesn't mean it like that because his face is concerned, brows furrowed, head tilted, hand patting her head, a respectable distance to her person and he means spend the night as in sleep in literally to sleep— it's not enough. She nods, though, but the movements after that are blurred, put on fast-forward because she can only vaguely tell he's walking away, and the sound of hinges of the door indicate movement and—

She will not waste the opportunity; she will forever hate herself if she doesn't try.

Walter lets her go in first; he's speaking, offering a sincere smile and gesturing vaguely to where they shall sleep respectively. She can barely make words out of the movements from his mouth; she waits.

"I could get a different set of bed sheets for you; actually, on my way to get some, I could also get us a some tea; we don't have to sleep right away," he strokes his chin, wondering how else he could accommodate her, just to make things seem less rigid and strange and unorthodox this situation may come across as. "I don't exactly know what the effects of it would be, now that I think of it; the tea, I mean. Perhaps if we add some blood to it, the taste won't affect you too much. Though, I'd have to go back upstairs again. If you want, I—" And it just happens too fast; too fast for even him, though that makes sense, doesn't it? He's only an artificial vampire; not even much of a good one because in a span of less than a second, one that he let his guard down and could have been attacked for all he knew because of the sudden pressure to his chest—

Seras Victoria has tackled him, pinned him to the ground and is kissing him.

It takes him a moment, or two really, to process the situation fully. His eyes remain open; much too open for someone who's being actively kissed and should ideally kiss back. The rest of his sentence is drowned by her, by all of her… even though he know full well this is… well— his mind doesn't quite catch up, not yet, because his hands are in mid-air, close to her shoulder blades, but positioned as if to ready his wires, ready for battle just from the sheer startle she's given him. And before he can consider, just one millisecond before he's reciprocating, Seras breaks it off.

Her breath is one of nervousness, almost hyperventilating; his is silent, non-existent. They stay like that for a breath before she lifts her head further, his hands twitching… aching at the lost opportunity; she's looking at him, unsure, maybe a little afraid but determined to have her say. "I— I..." she wipes her mouth, not so much in disgust, but rather as if reminding herself of what she's trying to accomplish; of which, he isn't sure. Walter sees how fiercely she gulps; her hands, which were previously woven though either end of his head almost caressing him, are clenched tightly against either side of him. If it wasn't for what she'd just done, he'd assume she wanted to pulverize him as an enemy would. "You… You said earlier today you wanted to enjoy your youth..."

His brain frantically searches for the memory. —I'll enjoy this opportunity, as unorthodox as it has been presented to me.

"I… I want to h-help—" she bites her lips, the poor thing in a near panic attack; but he's so bewildered by her desire to surpass herself, it's awe-inspiring. "I want to help. I want to help you do so," she sounds more sure the more she says it, and the meaning is lost to him just because of the sheer incredulity, "I want to help you enjoy your youth, Walter… if you'll have me… If you want..." me, he supposes she wants to say, If you want me. He's glad, in that moment, that he doesn't need to breathe; should he have been truly human in this moment, he would have died ten seconds ago from holding his breath. But he must be taking too long to react; his mind is sluggish and vaguely, just vaguely, he wonders if he's having a stroke—

—she appears solemn now, but accepting. "I'm… sorry," she says, as if waking up, "I… I forgot myself," and he has to wonder why that sounds closer to I wanted to try this out and see how you would react rather than a genuine apology, and that can't be right because although everything else around him seems so far away, so bleak and mute, he can hear her… he can feel her, so clearly. And as she slowly tries to peel herself away, his mind finally catches up to his brain; he has control of his body again and—

—it's Walter now that has taken her breath away, breath she doesn't have.

Long fingers are holding her cheeks, near tenderly, curling at the nape and holding steady, firmly. His mouth is on hers, kissing her fully, molding to hers as if they're meant to be there, meant to be connected. She's glad she doesn't need to breathe, despite the fact that she's going through the motion of it out of pure habit. Her hands are shaking, unsure where to go, where to grasp, and she ends up running them through his hair. She no longer has him pinned like an enemy underneath, rather he has her straddled to him as he sits upright, holding her with intent, with experience. It's a lot to take in, but she tries her best to keep up, all her senses on overload, numb, on, off, everywhere and nowhere. He moves with precision, with purpose; as if rehearsing an old dance.

Soon, one hand is on the small of her back, the other holding the back of her neck, holding her securely. He pulls away, and she wants to see his face, has a craving to see his eyes, but she doesn't get the chance to even fully open hers because his wet and searing mouth is now on her neck and she almost yelps at surprise, at the sensation. He brushes the hairs on her nape upward and out of his area of interest tenderly, taking his time, his breath hitting her just enough to raise goosebumps, placing wet kisses, licking, burning her so much that she swears he has at least one silver tooth in there. He's careful with his own fangs, despite not really needing to be. She's only ever fantasized about such things, of course she's touched herself, her imagination only providing so much, which was satisfactory at the time. But it's so different with someone doing it for you, and doing it in so many simultaneous areas.

Her rounded nails dig at his scalp, and she gasps at these new sensations, the wetness. Her head moves upwards, subconsciously making room for his ministrations, and her eyes follow suit before closing them again. She can't even think, not one singular coherent makes it past her mind, much less her lips. He doesn't move from the spot and though it's a blessing for her, it becomes insufficient and she has other places that need immediate attention.

With a trembling hand, she slowly but firmly tugs the wrist that's at the small of her back, pulling it to her desired area; under her tank top, to her left breast right at the erect peak. He follows suit, seemingly knowing more than she does at her desires, and she lets him, relieved because she sure doesn't, not right now. H-his hands— that's the most she can think as long, wire-combat experienced fingers maneuver delicately and so sharply precise over her flesh. She's never been a moaner, or even a sound maker during the times she's given herself such treatment; her pleasure is released by shaking, unsure breaths and measured sighs and clenched eyes.

Goosebumps are raised everywhere on her skin, delicately hot and burning but sensitive; she's still too new at this game, and the primal, currently busy, part of her wants to just come right now. This is enough, this is more than enough; but the other part of her, the part that'd been attracted to this man, wants to take him into consideration too. She almost hates… no, she envies how he's so in control; he knows the workaround, while she's here sitting like some… some— "W-Walter…" she breathes, a private thought she didn't mean to let bleed out as such, and she hates herself in the moment because he's pausing his ministrations to look at her.

She's nervous to see his face; she doesn't know why she gets the most ludicrous thoughts in the worst of situations. She has the distinct, sharp feeling he might laugh at her. It takes her a moment to process that he's just as flushed as she feels; cheeks flushes, breaths in pants, trembling lips. But it's all in the eyes, his eyes contain acute sharpness and experience and wisdom and lust— he says nothing, his hand under her shirt slowly burning skin in its' trail to leave, which she misses sorely and immediately.

She could be taken to heaven just from those eyes alone.

He doesn't break the eye contact, mouth sinfully wet and swollen from his work —and it's only when he stands as he holds her, wrapping her legs around his firm and strong waist with newly found strength that he surely hadn't possessed for near decades, as he walks over to the bed —and for that, she is thankful— does Seras realize that he's been wanting this too, hasn't he? She perceives the world around her like a memory, Walter being the one solid, real thing in her presence. Just the slightest movement of her knee as she tightens her hold on his torso is enough —more than enough to send a stark shudder all through her spine. Just a little more, and she realizes she can feel his growing excitement, making her mouth dry.

He could take her in the air, just like this; he doesn't even need to kiss her again, he just needs to look at her.

Gently, oh so gently, he places her on the bed, inching his large hands over her forearms to her wrists, holding her. "You're trembling..." he whispers, it's an observation and a question, and she definitely envies his ability to sound so calm, so collected even now, even when he looks like he's about to crumble; she can't trust herself to speak so clearly. His thumbs softly rub circles in her palms; they both know her inexperience, that's how vampiras are made. But Walter doesn't make the mistake of doting her; inexperience does not equal naivete or immaturity.

But he has questions too; Why him? Why now? Here? Like this? How long has she wanted this? With him? Why him?—she wouldn't do this if he was his real age, physically, she wouldn't, she wouldn't. He'd probably have a heart attack mid-way if he were. He thinks repeating that enough times will pull him away, snap him awake, make him hurt for how shallow this situation is being presented by her, make him realize that he holds so many years over her that most likely any other person would consider this pedophilic —which he knows is insanity because she's a capable adult woman, or at the very least make him become annoyed and not so enraptured with her. Nothing works. "Why…?" he breathes out, and it's all that comes out. This should freak one of them out, at least he thinks it logically should… right? His erection says otherwise, but whatever.

So why doesn't it, though? He's old; she's—

He sees a muscle tick in her jaw; her pride and determination manifests into her now red eyes, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Body language reveals the primal state of a person, but the eyes reveals the mind, the very soul. She's petrified, but she's not weak, not without desire. Seras doesn't just 'want' this or him in the shallow sense of the meaning. She wants him; all of him, whatever that includes. The realization comes from the lines between their devastating and seemingly final exchange: Thank you, for everything you've done for me.

Her hand, trembling but sure of its' destination, travel behind his neck, and tugs hair as if to reprimand him for asking and then she is pulling him to her, slowly but firm with purpose. Walter decides he will not fight it; he follows, lets himself succumb to whatever this is. He closes his eyes as man drowning himself does, and he submerges without struggle, not unlike how he'd accepted defeat when he was in Alucard's mercy— but it's different, so different—

He has her answer.

He becomes alive the second their lips touch for the third time that night. She only had the element of surprise as her trump card, but she has no more advantage to the situation; she lets her body's desire guide her movements, and she hangs onto him. His movements are languid, yet strong. Her palms ride up under the fabric of his shirt, and though her eyes are more glued to the ceiling out of nervousness, the very feel of his back and shoulder movements send something to her hips. He's stronger than she had initially perceived him; not at all lanky or without solidity, but there's curves to him too, like on his shoulders and the juncture where his thighs and arse connect, even if she doesn't get the full feel of them under his pants.

She moves with uncertainty, out of the practice, but with intent. His hands slowly ride up her tank top, the skin he touches burning, and they take in the flesh of her breasts, sparing skin as they seep through the space between his long fingers. But he's measured, and he makes sure to give attention to every inch of her breasts; rotating his wrists and encompassing the soft flesh, thumbs pressing into her rosy nipples. He stops, much to her dismay, but is soon gently tugging her top, asking for removal. Seras complies and he follows suit with his own shirt.

He's… gorgeous. And that's such a stupid, overused and cliché way to describe a man at the peak of sexual urgency, but it's the one word that echoes through her mind. He's not perfect; he's human. The scars of his fights each tell a story, the hardened, practical muscles in his arms and chest tell her he's hard-working, natural. Her mouth is dry again. I need to carry some water or something...

Walter takes a moment to look at her; she can't help the automatic covering of her chest, just out pure habit, instinct, a little bit of embarrassment and vulnerability. But she doesn't look away either. He's hovering her, their bodies, their selves close but flesh and skin not touching, not yet. Is he regretting this? Does he want to stop? She can't decipher that look in his eyes, probably because she's so overwhelmed, and it isn't until she takes in his clenched fists, shifty eyes and twitch of his mouth that she almost laughs because they're both messes. Utterly, truly and inevitable embarrassed messes. He wants to make sure she wants to continue, but he probably doesn't even have it in him to ask something like that out loud. How long has it been for him?

She gulps, and his eyes follow the movement of her throat as she does so. Her hands and arms are shaking less, but she moves first, roaming to his shoulders and the back, pressing herself to him in a type of embrace. She places the base of her forehead where the taut skin of his shoulder and neck meet. A strong hand travels to the center of her back, holding her there, supporting her.

"This isn't… this is..." he starts.

"It is. We'd either be ostracized or made fun of, or both. Maybe get yelled at by Sir Integra and maybe even Alucard if we're lucky..."

Walter gulps, but she's sure it's because he doesn't really care. How? Easy, by making sure to perfectly heave her chest as she enunciates every word. She can feel the twitch of his fingers.

"This is wrong," he croaks.

"You don't seriously believe that."

"And what if I do?"

"If you really did, you wouldn't have groped my chest and made out with me like a horny teenager," there's a playful bite to her words; she sounds more confident than she really is, evident by her shaking, "Which, essentially, you kind of are." He makes a non-committal sound from his throat, but he doesn't say anything. "Were these the kinds of things you were having trouble dealing with?"

Something clicks in his mind, "You… Did you… plan this?" he whispers, incredulous.

She rolls her eyes because bloody hell that took you a minute, didn't it? "In my defense, I didn't think it would work, let alone get this far." She's worried for a second that he'll seriously become angry with her, and she holds a breath. She is rewarded a smack to her ass. "O-oi! D-d-did you just—!? How dare you!" She tenses immediately in surprise, discomfort and disbelief; but she's trying really hard not to laugh.

"Simple, love; like this," and wait, what did he— he does it again before she can think.

"Okay! You're bloody well asking for it—!" He shuts her up with an open-mouthed kiss, too scorching for her to take herself away from. When they break away from that, they remain, still not too sure how to proceed, or even if they should, but enjoying being in each other's arms like this despite the strange, unorthodox circumstances. Both are trying to collect themselves.

She presses herself to his chest again, trying to hide, in a way, "...do that again," despite her voice being muffled, he seems to understand her. She can feel the shaking breath he takes, as if calming himself down.

"… Smack you?" he whispers, hand now stroking her back; she could fall asleep to that if he keeps it up. "Ah, so you're into that kind of thing..."

"N-no, damn it! That's not what I meant!"

She feels like her chest can breathe when he jerks suddenly, she hangs to him just a little more securely, and now he's holding her a little tighter, as he snorts. She smiles. He can feel the smile through his skin, too. "We didn't even do anything."

"Then let's go and do something then. Let's get yelled at." she says, brazen and emboldened and sure, feeling more and more at ease. "Let's get into some real trouble."

His other hand travels to her cheek, moving her head just slightly so that they're at least looking at each other. His grin does things to her, it's young and innocent and mischievous, "I think I might know how..." Both hands gently pry her off, and are now stroking the top of her thighs, eyes flickering to her and wordlessly asking. She gets it immediately, though curiously, she places her hands on his, guiding him as they both remove her pants, suddenly disrobing in front of him not such a nervous action. He slides the pants from under her, lifting her legs just above to make room, and soon his fingers are touching the edge of her panties —thank god it was pink-lacy-Tuesday— as if unsure what to do. She would rip them off for him, if for the sole fact she's nervous to show him just how aroused she really is. Which, is pretty bloody stupid because that's the whole point.

"It's okay, it won't bite," he glares at her for that, and she clamps her lips to cease the oncoming laughter.

He kneads with delicate thumbs, applying just a little pressure on the inside; his eyes look to her, assessing her reaction. Seras is sure he can smell her, and she prays it's not a turn off. It seems to be the opposite, if his dilating pupils are any indication; he looks hungry, and she tries not to give herself or their desire the credit. After all, they're vampires; blood is a big factor, and perhaps he didn't drink enough when—

Except those thoughts are quickly shattered because in a movement that's she's sure is at his peak of his prowess, he slides down the delicate fabric, and places that damn bloody searing mouth of his in her wet center. She means to gasp, but she chokes on saliva and the sudden embarrassment and it comes out like suffocation. There's more than enough fluid to drown him, to put it crudely, and the contrast in temperatures, against his mouth and her wetness, has her almost fainting just from the over-sensations. And then he slides his tongue, and it moves so carefully and intentionally and in patterns—

"O—ooh my goodness..." she whispers so quietly, so minutely that she wonders if she even spoke in the first place, eyes glazing. Her hands don't know where to go; his hair, the sheets, or her breasts. She's like a floundering fish, and he pushes his mouth deeper, and her hips ripple at the ecstasy. His arms and hands encompass her arse and waist, keeping her steady; she's glad, in that moment, that he doesn't need to breathe, because she's squeezing her muscled thighs. The movement of her hips is awkward, new and unsure, but they gain a slight rhythm that well connects to the wonderful things his tongue is doing and she realizes what he's trying to accomplish; he's studying her. He's seeing what movements elicit the best reactions and she tries to pay attention as well, because this is new for her too, except she's getting too lost in the bliss. The certain counter-clockwise and downward swipe in between her lips and to her clit gets her near jumping and he grips the soft skin of her thighs. Checkmate. He does it again and again and again and variations of the same movement, until there's that familiar sensation bubbling in her pelvis.

It's quick but it's bliss; as is the consequence of trying to control the arrival of her own orgasm. How stupid of her to think she even could, considering what he's doing to her. He's still against her, the clenching of his walls and she takes a second to catch her breath and think, okay, that's fine, next one will be less of a buzzkill and—

Except, he doesn't remove himself like she anticipates. She angles her head on the flat surface of the mattress, trying to catch what he's doing, because what in the world is he doing?

Their eyes meet; wide, confused ones to intense, sure ones. She blinks and he shuts his and—

Oh.

His tongue is doing the same thing except —wait… what— his fingers join this time, she hadn't even noticed the absence of his hand from his thigh.

She comes crashing down again.

And he repeats it.

Again.

And again.

...and again.

Each time her hips get more practice, confident in their movements, as if her body knows exactly what to do. Her back follows suit and she didn't know she was capable of feeling that like this— Her own fingers would cramp before she could even try for a second, instantaneous orgasm, so she never truly experienced such a continuous stream of bliss, not like this. The sounds of his middle and pointer finger pumping in her is utterly obscene and loud and embarrassing, but they're drowned out by her growing gasps and just doesn't stop! She loses count of how many highs she goes through after only a minute and a half, and despite wanting to challenge herself to see just how far she can go, it's starting to sting; and she doesn't want it to sting like this just yet. "W-Walter… y-you can—!" she croaks, shaking hand trying to gesture to him to stop somehow. As the last one hits, he's pulled away, which results in the sudden lack of warmth and wetness to add to the effect, and her hips are in mid-air. The sensation is almost too much and she almost asks him to put that mouth back—

Even the slight contact with the nub of her clit to his nose gets her sucking in a breath. Slowly, he raises himself up and the cheeky bastard, smirking, wipes his mouth like he's just had a scuffle; she's reminded of the blood that had dribbled earlier that night in the fridge, and her brain for some reason connects those actions and she's—

This is going to be a long night.