Author's Note: A Valentine's Day gift to my patient readers who have to put up with such long waits.
Also, be warned, the "M" of the M rating is going to be abused for all it's worth this chapter. Don't like blood, gore, prostitution, rape, or torture? I'd recommend another fic.
Disclaimer: I have no legal claim or financial gain to Hellsing.
Seras was too embarrassed to return. While she had known logically what Pip's job entailed, she was not ready to see it up close. It was too raw and personal for her. And she felt all the more like a fool for not being ready. For running away.
All the teasing she'd ever received for being a foolish, pathetic, priggish, prudish little virgin flooded her mind, and it was too much to bear.
She saw every incredulous, mocking, sneering face she had ever received when someone learned she was a virgin—and there were enough that she felt her mind was flooding with a sea of them. Her mind drowned and bobbed and struggled in the sea of incredulous faces… and she imagined Mr. Bernadotte's face with them.
He'd seen her balk and run, she was sure of it. How pathetic he must think her.
If she had just seen from behind a closed door or slipped silently away, she felt she could go back and face him. But part of her felt sure he had seen her—seen her balk and flee like a child. It shamed and humiliated her. He must think her such a foolish, pathetic little blood virgin. She couldn't go back and face him.
She sat alone in her room in the dark, trying hard not to cry. She couldn't go out and face other vampires, because she was sure they would mock her relentlessly. They now openly laughed at her where once they just teased and whispered behind her back. She kept trying to tell herself she didn't like them, respect them, or care what they had to say… but still, it was hard.
And it was hard to imagine he didn't find her as useless and pathetic as they did. He'd come onto her so many times in the time since she met him, even when she made it clear she didn't buy his time to do… that… so he must have already found her so ridiculous and childish before. Now he saw her balk and run, so he must find her so…
She thought of all their time together, and how far he'd risen since they'd met. She'd once consoled herself with the knowledge that she was the only vampire who was kind to him, listened to him, talked to him, gave him food and gifts where other vampires just used him and left. But now the other vampires were showering him with food and gifts too—much nicer ones than even she could afford—as well as giving him the sexual release she now felt sure he craved. What did he need her for?
She spied the discarded basket of treats and cheeses and wine she had foolishly… foolishly…
She placed a hand over her face and wept.
Down in the dungeons, Pip kept his eyes on the ceiling, and took a drag of his cigarette. His gaze was as focused as if he were searching or waiting for something, but also one of casual indolence. He never did anything with much energy anymore (except things that required his enthusiasm and exertion…), not since his men had been slaughtered and he had been dragged starving and bleeding away from the sun, thrown into a dark dungeon to rot.
Or at least, so he had thought.
For weeks, or perhaps months (it certainly felt like the latter), he'd been kept in a pitch-black dungeon, with no light except the faintest glow of torch light from the hallway. This faint glow came in only through the sliver of his metal jail door, which only opened when they threw moldy scraps for him to eat, or when a vampire strolled in to grab him, bite him, suck on him, use him, sometimes scratch him to hell, then leave.
All rage had been spent screaming futilely and pounding his fists bloody and raw against the hard metal door and cold stone walls, which elicited nothing but echoes if he was lucky, mocking laughter from beyond his cell if not. His anguish once drew a female vampire who had come down for another toy, but now felt drawn to play with him once she'd heard his screams.
The metal door had slammed open abruptly, which startled him. A female vampire had stood in the doorway. He couldn't see her clearly; just the silhouette of a female vampire with a buxom figure, and long curly hair.
"Well, you're all fired up," she'd purred, and slammed the door closed again with her foot, leaving them both drowned in darkness. (Well, him, he later realized; vampires could see just fine in the dark.) She began stalking toward him, panting and moaning. "I was coming down for another toy, but I think you'll do just fine, plaything."
She'd grabbed him and shoved him to the ground. No sooner was he down did she straddle his hips and press her body against his, panting and moaning in pleasure. She ran her hands over his chest, ripping his already tattered shirt away as she plunged her fangs into his neck, sucking hard. Despite his terror and helplessness at being grabbed and shoved and violated by an unknown creature in pitch black, even his body couldn't resist the lure of a buxom woman panting and moaning and rubbing her body against his (by now, whatever fabric might have covered her breasts had been pulled away and she'd rubbed her pert nipples against his chest), nor the arousal of a vampire's kiss. He quickly grew hard under her attention, and as he did he could feel her roughly pull down his trousers and then take him into her soft center.
No sooner was he forced inside her did she moan and groan desperately, and ride him as relentlessly as a two-bit pony. She kept her teeth locked firmly onto his neck and sucked and sucked as she thrust her hips against his again and again. She dug her long, sharp nails into his skin and pulled her teeth away so she could moan and groan with greater recklessness and urgency as her thrusts grew faster and harder . She'd grabbed his hips and tried to force him deeper inside her as her thrusts grew as fast and as hard as she could make them; then she'd plunged her teeth back into his neck and sucked as that wild moment of ecstatic groans and wild spasms consumed her.
The moment she finished she shoved him aside and stood up, no doubt straightening whatever clothes she still wore.
"Mmmm," she'd moaned in satisfaction. "You'll do quite nicely, plaything."
And with that, she'd left him to bleed alone in the dark.
Shame and humiliation and helplessness and terror and violation and filth and nausea didn't even begin to describe the emotions that flooded him after that first cession. He felt despoiled and violated, body and soul. At that moment he'd wanted to kill himself, but there was nothing in his little stone prison to kill himself with. No rope, no blades, no metal pipes to bash his own head in. He felt around in the dark for anything. He felt nothing but a busted up old bed spring and a thin mattress to sleep on, and a metal thing sticking out of the wall, which he soon learned was the handle to a shower head that stuck out of the ceiling. The water was ice cold, and he soon learned there was no way to change the temperature, but a little water was better than no water. Sadly, there wasn't even enough to drown in; just enough to freeze or rinse as much shame and filth off himself than he could.
The shower water also made him feel like there were no tears to cry.
However, he eventually realized that the more he screamed and cried, the more vampires heard him from outside and came in to seek their pleasure from him. It was a bitter pill to swallow, finally learning that he was in an underground whorehouse where vampires came to ride their toys and leave.
It became effective aversion therapy, realizing that the more of a fuss he made the more vampires came in to hurt and harm him.
Most of them were like his first client—already wound up like springs and just needing a little trigger like him to make them snap.
Others were much more hostile and demanding; expecting him to turn out good bed tricks to get them off, and then beat him or slashed him if he couldn't. While part of him always hoped to die in their coupling, no human truly likes sudden and unprovoked pain, so he quickly (if subconsciously) learned used his exceptional experience from countless visits to brothels to make them moan the first time.
Their satisfied purrs and moans were some of the few scraps of pleasure he himself could derive in these circumstances, and he learned to derive what little pride and pleasure he could in a place like this.
Of course, the act of beating or slashing at him always turned them on, whether he was good or not. He had the grave misfortune to encounter a vampire woman who could only be turned on through violence and suffering, and she made him scream like a torture victim before she took her pleasure of him and left.
After each encounter he was mildly surprised that he didn't die during intercourse, and even disappointed that he didn't. Without fresh food or sun, and with him getting scratched and bitten and sucked to hell, he fully expected he would die soon.
Eventually he came to accept he wasn't going to die right away, though feeling confident that he would die soon enough gave him all the solace he needed not to go mad with grief, and he resigned himself to his fate.
Eventually he numbed himself to his emotions, and learned to scrape by as much pleasure as he could from his circumstances on the way to his grave. The act of coupling with vampire women certainly required that he be aroused for it, so he learned to focus on the pleasure of arousal and numb/suppress the shame, humiliation, and violation that came with it.
While they all came in the dark and he could not see them, he imagined all the women who came to him were beautiful. They all certainly had beautiful voices and moans. Deep moans, soft sighs, throaty groans, breathless gasps, ecstatic screams; the sounds alone were enough to make a man come just sitting alone in his room, and he chose to focus on that as they raped him. He tried to participate back, when they let him, and focused on doing what he could elicit those sighs, moans, groans, and screams when they were not doing it themselves. He found that when he did they tended to respond positively, or at least focus on having sex with him instead of biting or hurting him as a means to get themselves off. The sooner and more easily he could get them off, the less pain inflicted on him.
One vampire woman enjoyed a smoke even as they did it. He could see the embers burning in the dark, and focused in on it. Not just because it was the only light in a room, which drew his eye like a tiny fish in the deepest darkest seas, but because it was a cigarette. He had been shaking from nicotine withdrawals.
The vampire woman took a deep drag of her cigarette and laughed, "You want some of this, mortal?"
He hadn't trusted himself to speak, though his auditory gulp must have been confirmation enough.
She laughed. "I'll give some of this to you, if you give some of this to me…" and she'd rolled over to show him what she wanted him to give to her.
It was the filthiest thing he'd ever done since he got here, but when he inhaled his lungful of pure bliss, it was all worth it.
He learned to offer bed tricks to other vampire women who might have cigarettes, and if he was lucky they rewarded him for his services instead of reaping their pleasure from him and leaving.
He learned to try to enjoy whatever little moments he could find in their visits. He had one client whose moans were soft and breathless, and whose touches were gentle and feather-light. She even gave him a blow job before bringing him back to arousal with a vampire's kiss (which always seemed to make one ready for action, no matter how tired or turned off they were before) and riding him to ecstasy.
He was less lucky with the one who came after, who bit and scratched him in so many places he feared he'd bleed to death, then grew frustrated with her own lack of arousal from his silent pain. She went between his legs and started to pleasure him, but then bit him so suddenly he'd almost blacked out, terrified that she'd bitten it clean off. His terror and pain was what she finally needed to get off, and she mounted him and rode him (painful as it was for him) to her own ecstasy.
Her climax had been so violent she'd slashed into him in her moment of triumph, then left him with deep gashes as she crawled out and left. She didn't even shut the door properly on her way out.
He was left alone with his own numb pain and resentment. Slowly, lethargically, he'd checked to make sure his Johnson was still intact. Seeing that it was so, if bloody, he'd slowly, painfully pulled up his trousers and leaned against the wall, sweating and exhausted from the exertion. He'd then pulled out the cigarette that had been a gift from another client, trying to numb his emotions further with smoke from a burning cigarette.
It was in this state that he heard Narissa, the madam, leading another vampire down his hall, on her way to a better one.
He'd overheard a few such tours from the madam, who always tried to steer new clients to the most expensive ones. Not that it mattered to him—it's wasn't any of their choice in being here, or who came to visit them.
He'd glared at the little vampire fledgling, who he would have taken for a boy had it not been for the huge bosom he saw in silhouette.
With all this in mind, was it any wonder that he didn't expect anything to come of her visit?
I mean, sure, it was surprising when Narrissa stuck her face through the door, and said harshly, "You've been reserved tomorrow at three to four."
He'd just stood there numbly. "What…?"
"The little vampire—Seras—she wants to take a turn with you. She already had a good turn with the Captain, but for God only knows what reason she wants a tumble with you too. Reserved an hour for it and everything."
His first instinct was terror. Most of his clients were in, out, and over in minutes. What did she want to do to him that would take a whole hour? (All of his other clients had all been violent.) Then he thought maybe whatever she did to him would finally kill him by the time she was done, and he found solace in it.
"Well?!" Narissa snapped.
Pip had no idea what she had expected him to do or say to that. What could he do or say? "Sure"? "No problem"?
"Be serious!" she snapped, and stepped in. "She already had a taste of the best of the best, and now she's following up with a worthless little worm like you! What's she to think? She'll never want to come back! You give her the best time a flaccid little worm like you can give her, or I'll eviscerate you myself, understood?"
Sounded like a win-win to him.
With that going in he knew the fledgling, Seras, was a bit of an innocent, but he didn't expect much besides the usual fucking and biting and sucking and leaving. Perhaps she'd be a little gentler than the others, but he doubted it. She'd rented him for an hour, after all. She could do a lot of damage in that time.
Of course, he had no idea how time went on down here in this endless night, so he had to be ready at all times. When she finally arrived, he was showered and ready to go. He even wore nothing but his boxers to give her easier access.
He fully expected her to jump him any minute when she arrived, but apparently she liked watching from a distance.
He'd even sat on the bed and propped himself up, showing off his chest and legs and neck to their best advantage. It was too dark for him to see, except the silhouette of a buxom woman in the doorway. He fully expected her to crawl all over him and have her way with him. Perhaps she would start with nibbling and fondling him, perhaps she'd nip and grope, or perhaps she would bite and scratch her way to release. Either way, all scenarios ended with her reaping her pleasure and leaving.
Instead, she didn't seem interested in doing anything but sitting and staring at him.
This had puzzled Pip greatly. He'd taken a deep drag of his cigarette to calm himself and tried to stare back in the dark, wondering what could she possibly want to do that involved sitting staring at him for a long time?
The visit soon took a turn for the worst since the vampire fledgling wouldn't do anything, then snapped at him when he tried to make suggestions. He probably shouldn't have bothered, but all vampiresses who came in here wanted a little blood, or carnal flesh, or both. It simply didn't happen that they came in and nothing happened. By rights, she should be orgasming now.
Trying to help her decide the best course of action in having her way with him just made her angry, though, and she stormed out, furious.
Unfortunately, Narissa didn't keep her promise to eviscerate him for failing to please the girl, and he was still alive in his cell, waiting to die.
Never, in his wildest dreams, did it ever even occur to him that this strange vampire fledgling who had her first night with the best the dungeon had to offer and her next night with the worse it had to offer, without touching him, would turn up and plop a basket full of life-saving food, medicine, and blood in his lap.
He couldn't contain his shock at her sudden charity…
Although he hoped he managed to contain his disappointment that she was depriving him of his desire to die.
He knew better than to show ingratitude to a vampire woman who bestowed kindness on him (the retaliation would be brutal, from both her and from Narissa), and he knew even better than to let on his secret desire to expire down here. His neighbor had learned the hard way.
He'd heard screaming from a poor, miserable sap somewhere down the hall, wailing and screaming at them to kill him. Apparently he made a go at himself or something, because next Pip heard they'd tied him up so he couldn't hurt himself, and tortured him extensively, day after day, until the dungeons were filled with unending screaming for days. They only stopped when other clients complained that his screaming cut into their own time with their whores. Then things became quiet. But had they killed him? Oh no. They'd just rendered him mute so they could still inflict their torture on him without disturbing other clients. He overheard Narissa and her assistant talking about how they also gave him blood and fluids to keep him alive. He wasn't allowed to die.
Now, when Pip listened carefully, he could still heard the muffled but heart-wrenching moans of pain from down the hall.
Vampires were cruel, heartless, sadistic monsters. When they knew someone wanted to live, they killed them just for fun and spite. When they found out someone wanted to die, they ensured they lived but inflicted even more pain and suffering on them than they already had, to make their desire for death that much stronger but so much less obtainable.
Pip dared not even hint at his true wish, so he had to accept her gifts with good grace. He had to act like he wanted to live, hoping someone would be cruel enough to end his life.
But… was that why she gave him these? Did she guess that his true wish was death and she was only mocking him with presents to preserve his life to rub in the fact that he couldn't die? Was he supposed to play this little game where
But, that couldn't be. When he talked to her, she had a sweet little voice that expressed rather naïve sentiments. She was either a very good actress, or she was a genuinely naïve little fledgling who didn't know how things worked down here, and truly tried to make a misguided attempt at being nice.
He tried to tell her as such, but she got huffy and screechy again, so he dropped it.
When she said she'd rented him out for a week so he could take a break, he truly had no idea how to react.
It was hard to tell where he stood with this little fledgling, who was so bizarre and nonsensical that he felt sure she couldn't be real. He knew where he stood with the other vampire women—on the bottom, to be crawled over like a bed and feasted on like a buffet. As long as he basically held still, let them do whatever they wanted, and possibly did what they wanted when they demanded it or bit/scratched/squeezed it out of him, his stay down here was… as tolerable as one on their way to the ghouls could make it.
This little fledgling he could barely see in the dark, who stood there awkwardly, barely talked to him, snapped at him when he tried to talk to her, went out and came back despite her apparent dissatisfaction with him, and sometimes did nice things but then insisted she wasn't being nice at all, defied every ounce of logic he could ever muster in this topsy-turvy nightmare the vampires had thrown him into.
This could only be the product of a broken mind.
In fact, he was sure of it. This had to be a hallucination, a fever dream, or something similar. It was too much of a mind fuck to be real.
He decided to drop his puzzlement by concluding that his mind had finally snapped and he'd made up some sweet vampire fledgling to give him food and bandages. The endless darkness and pain and torture and trauma of this place had finally gotten to him, and his broken mind had made up this charitable vampire maiden who brought him food and medicine and blood to make living in his hellhole much more bearable.
It made him calmer than he'd ever been, knowing he was crazy and riding a pleasant hallucination to death, if he wasn't dead already. He let her feed him dark leafy greens and apply ointments that stung but made him feel better in the long run and juice him up with transfusion blood.
He then realized something. If this was his hallucination (and it had to be, she was a petit girl with a sweet little voice and the biggest rack imaginable for a girl her size), that meant he could tease her the way she teased other girls, without getting punished for sassing a vampire.
When she brought him bathroom supplies, he couldn't pass up the opportunity.
"What, no loofa?" he'd teased.
"I don't even know what that is," she'd snapped.
She'd forgotten to close the door behind her, so he could see that she was a scruffy tomboy who wore plain, boyish clothes and had short, messy, boyish hair. Of course she wouldn't. Wasn't his ideal fantasy in that department, but maybe his mind felt it made too many concessions by creating such a pretty girl with such lovely eyes, such a pretty voice, and such great boobs.
In fact, he felt sure that he could keep teasing her, and even come onto her, but she wouldn't break his jaw for back-talking he or taking the invitation to crawl all over him and ravage him to her lust's content.
Her cute and flustered reaction was exactly what he'd hoped for.
God, this was a good dream!
If he was really cold, bleeding, and starving on the concrete floor in his cold cell, he didn't want to regain his sanity to experience it. Even if he was being raped by a vampiress right now, and his mind was coping with it by picturing instead a luxurious shower or a good laugh with a pretty girl, he'd take the hallucination over the reality any day.
Of course, there were some things he didn't like about it.
A part of Pip was still too shrewd and practical to enjoy this hallucination, either. If, on the off-chance this wasn't a dream, he wasn't going to take a chance on provoking this vampire girl too much and risk her kind's retaliation. (He now thought "her kind" because he could no longer see her doing it, even if this wasn't a dream.)
As such, he still felt obliged to make her happy when she came in, but she refused to let him know what made her happy. She came in to see a "prosti-dude," yet she was virginal and awkward. She still hovered in the dark near the door, which made him a bit uneasy. She still resisted any attempts he made to help her relax or settle in. She still wouldn't say what she wanted out of her cessions with him, which made it difficult for him to know how to please her. If she said she didn't want sex but she did want to discuss re-institutionalizing racism in the post-modern world, he'd happily oblige her. But as it was, she wouldn't say what she wanted, but then just kind of hovered there awkwardly, and then got pissy when he tried to ask her questions or make suggestions they do something else.
Pip the mercenary had always fancied himself good at reading people, but maybe that ability flew when his mind snapped. He just couldn't quite get a grasp on her, even if she was just a product of his broken mind, which increased their awkwardness.
On the whole, though, he really enjoyed the hallucination. He enjoyed getting the week off to sleep and rest as long as he wanted (though the bed and ratty old blanket was far from comfortable) with only visits from a cute little fledgling to bring him food and presents. Part of him still felt terror when he heard footsteps down the halls, heard screams from across the hall, and when his mettle door creaked open, fearing it was another client come to extract her pleasure from his pain; but by and large the weak was pleasant.
Sometimes it felt very real, and this made him sad; especially when he told her his life's story, and she combed his hair and said nice things to him. It was too good to be real—and if it was, there was no way he could deserve it. He realized he'd been the scum of the earth when he had been alive (he thought he was still alive, but didn't feel it), and he was the scum of the vampire's basement here.
He used to scoff at feminists who said that men like him exploited desperate young women by visiting whorehouses (many of whom had been brought there against their will, or were too economically desperate to find a better line of work), and he'd gone to visit whorehouses all around the world anyway. Now he was thrown into a vampire's dungeon, forced into prostitution against his will, beaten and starved and abused by creatures that didn't even see him as a person; just a slab of meat to devour and leave.
He'd killed so many countless men for fun and for money, and now here he was, being toyed with by monsters who hurt him for fun until he died.
It made him sad, so he chose not to think about it.
The hallucination seemed to end when the week was up and he had to get back to work. Seras had tried to rent him out for another week, but Narissa was impatient to have him back because his clients complained. He didn't know they cared. When they got him back, they all but jumped him and made up for lost time.
He half expected them to slash him to pieces to make him go back to being the way they wanted, but they actually seemed… pleased by his new virile. Those that weren't left and never came back, but those that did stayed longer and came to visit him more frequently.
"Ahhh!" one of his nicer clients exclaimed after he brought her to the moon and back, "I always knew you were skilled, plaything, but I never thought you could do… that…"
Another one was almost… shy… after he was done with her (or rather, she would have retorted, after she was done with him), and she practically scooted toward him. "Do you think you could… do that again…?"
Why was she asking? He was under her mercy, wasn't he?
The one who'd first given him a smoke was openly pleased and flipped him over so he was lying on his back. "You've gotten much stronger, mortal."
"Oui," he'd smiled under her.
"And you could last much longer. Tell me…" she'd said as she straddled his hips. "You think you could last longer for round two?"
Soon, Narissa started charging higher prices for vampires to see him, and had to impose breaks in his schedule to give him rest. Soon, she started advertising him to new clientele, and while vampire women still bit and clawed at him and still had their way with him, it wasn't done as suddenly, violently, or painfully as before. These vampire women were willing to go more slowly, include a bit of foreplay, allowed him to do things to them instead of just expecting him to lie back and let them do things to him; and they rather enjoyed the journey, not just the definition.
Whatever scorn he once felt for women needing a lot of foreplay back when he was alive, he now took completely back.
His hallucinations slowly started blending into his reality. Narissa moved him to a better room; one with small lamps, so he could see. One with a comfortable bed, toilet, and shower—one with hot water! Oh, that glorious hot shower—he'd almost forgotten how heavenly it felt. Again, all scorn for women taking too long in showers back when he was alive was completely abandoned.
He still received some visits from sa cher, but they became so much less frequent he was starting to feel like he was coming out of the insanity that had caused him to create her in the first place. Or maybe she was real all along and this was really happening… troubling to think about, but more easy to deal with as his situation improved and stabilized. He had a pretty stream of happy customers who liked where he was better than where he'd been, so he didn't have too many fears of going back in the dark.
It was very strange and, in some ways, difficult adjusting to having light again, after being in the dark for so long. However, he soon he soon forgave it when he saw Seras in full light. She was so beautiful. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, bar no one.
Of course she'd smiled sheepishly, averted her eyes, and shyly gestured to the basket she had brought him. What an angel.
He grew to like his new room. He now had good food, solid clothes, gifts from clients (a cowboy hat! Hi-oh!), a comfortable bed to sleep in (and blankets that kept him warm), and some leisure time. For once he had energy to pass the time by working out, not just lying there too exhausted and lethargic to move.
The best part were the visits from Seras. She was still so cute, and so pretty, and now he could actually her clearly. He now understood the reasons for her awkward body language. She was shy and awkward; virginal and inexperienced. She blushed cutely when she saw him shirtless, and looked away modestly, trying to convince herself she didn't like the view when she did.
Teasing her became way more fun from then on out.
This new life was good, but what made it worth living was visits from Sera. She came back to visit less often in this room than the old one because of how much more expensive it was, but that just made the time they had together more precious to Pip. He liked talking with her and passing time together, however briefly.
Then, she'd seen him with another client. Horrified and disgusted, she'd bolted.
It'd reminded Pip of his true status: as a whore. They may have dressed him up prettier and given him a nicer room, and brought better clients with better perks and presents. But at the end of the day (whenever that was), he was just a plaything to vampires, turning good bed tricks for half a cigarette and the "pleasure" of living one more day.
He kept his eyes on the ceiling, and he doubted she'd ever want to come down to see him again. She saw him for what he really was, and she fled in horror and disgust. He couldn't blame her. He would too.
He returned from the shower in not but his boxers (nice, clean tiger print) and a towel draped across his shoulders. One of the vampire dames lay in his bed, wearing a little negligée.
"You took long enough," she said with an impish little grin.
"Pardon, ma cher," he said as he sat on the bed, lighting a cigarette. She motioned for one too, and he handed her the pack and lit one for her.
Seras hated smoking.
"You know she's not coming back," the vampiress said as she exhaled.
"Who?"
"Seras! The little blood virgin," she laughed. "Everyone knows what a pathetic little prude she is. It's all the latest gossip. She had the opportunity to lose her blood innocence for months, but she never took it. Why, just last moon she went to see the Captain, the Maker of Women, but she scurried out of there as clean as she came in. Then she went to see you every night for a week, and still she came out fresh as a newborn babe."
She took a deep drag of her cigarette, then put it out. She then motioned for him to light the next one, which she did. She reveled in the high of the first inhale.
"You don't say," Pip murmured.
"Ja! I mean, that doesn't say anything about you as a man, um…"
A man? Huh. It had been a long time since anyone had ever called him that. Since he'd thought of himself as that. No one had even hinted as such, until the night Seras had said, a bit offhandedly, that he reminded him of the Dothraki warriors of some book she liked.
He let his long braid run loose between his fingers, feeling the oils that kept it smooth. Oils she had brought him. Smooth hair that she had brushed. A braid she couldn't make.
"It's just…" the vampiress laughed, "How pathetic does she have to be to come into a room with a man like you night after night, week after week, and still walk away a blood virgin!" she cackled, "So pathetic!"
It didn't bear thinking that she had been the only one here who treated him like a person; who cared about what he wanted.
"I mean, come on," the vampiress said to him, running her fingers up and down his abs, "You don't need to be dragged down by a geeky little girl like her. You deserve a real woman who knows exactly how to treat a man like you…"
Her hand cupped his package.
He sat still for a very long time, then took a deep breath, and sighed.
"You're right," he smiled as he leaned over her.
They fell back into the bed to enjoy round two.
If I got the male character POV wrong, I apologize. I'm a woman and I have a woman's perspective on the world, so it's challenging capturing how a dude's experience would go. I tried to write this chapter so many other times in so many other ways, but nothing seemed to "work." And I couldn't go over Seras' view without retreading more of the same ground. I felt it was really important for us to get Pip's POV before we could carry on.
