The Strain: Another Season
A stand alone one shot
Werner's Valentine
Author's note:
When I refer to Dreverhaven it is my, insanely hot, Dreverhaven, the TV version will be called Rolf Steiner.
Warnings: Sex – kind of explicit. Power play. A little bit of gentle BDSM suggested.
Werner's Valentine
Poland 1944
Some time before the events of Another Season "The Books"
Eva Von Croÿ examined her reflection in the full-length mirror. The dress' colour complemented her blue eyes perfectly. Its cut and fabric highlighted her slender willowy figure without making her seem skinny and boyish. Sometimes she envied the curvier shapes of her sisters, who'd taken after Papa.
Her golden hair had been carefully styled to draw attention away from her strong, slightly square jawline. She also coveted the twins' rounded, feminine faces.
It would do. She wanted to get someone's attention tonight.
She couldn't remember when she'd first become aware of Doktor Werner Dreverhaven as a man. For so long he'd just been background to the younger officers. Another friend of her parents - someone who accompanied Standartenführer Eichhorst to the dinner parties and dances her mother enjoyed throwing for the officers of the camp.
She'd watched from the sidelines as he pursued, and either won or took by force, the love of men and girls alike. She'd heard rumours, of course – rumours of cruelty and depravity. They intrigued and excited her even as they frightened. There were tales of reputations soiled and marriages ruined - even stories of death and injury resulting from his physical affection.
Still she couldn't stop thinking about him. Mama was always a little breathless and Papa a little tetchy when Thomas Eichhorst was on the guest list and even some of Eva's own contemporaries were enamoured of the commandant but she couldn't understand how anyone could see past the doctor. She'd danced with Eichhorst many times before and it was like being held by a lamppost. But Dreverhaven was taller, stronger, years younger than the Standartenführer with black hair and ice blue eyes that looked straight through you. Or they had looked straight through until one night last summer when she'd had the fortune (good or bad - she still wasn't sure) for them to settle on hers.
Dreverhaven's house
The doctor dressed for the evening and contemplated his unrequited lust for Eichhorst's woodcarver (and the commandant himself) and how losing his sexuality would come as something of a relief. The only thing making it hard was little Eva. Sweet, young…filthy little Eva Von Croÿ.
He recalled pursuing her around her parents' mansion that first time until finally he'd caught her in the attic. In retrospect he should have wondered why she fled away from all the guests who might have rescued her. And why she'd only kicked him in the shins rather than higher up. Aside from that, she'd fought him fiercely, scratching his face and biting his arm. She'd received some bruises in return but when he'd finally pushed her down and torn off her clothes, he was staggered to find her so very wet. The little wildcat had enjoyed the chase, the fight, the violence as much as him.
She'd pleaded with him to be gentle, said that she'd never been with a man before.
Her admission had arrested him. Her submission had melted him.
Well she wasn't going to sidetrack him again. He would ignore her tonight. Cut her dead.
At the Von Croÿ soiree that evening
Eva was heartbroken at this dispassionate freezing out and she would not be denied. So, with teenage persistence (and an inability to believe in "No" which hinted at her parentage) she cornered him in the hall. He told her he didn't want to see her again, that she was never to seek his company, never to appear in his presence again.
'But why?'
She couldn't understand his heartlessness.
'You don't need to comprehend the instructions, merely obey them,' he said coldly.
For a moment, she felt on the verge of tears but, eyes snapping, she set her jaw and she gave a little nod (again very reminiscent of her supposed father).
Early the next morning, Eva dressed quickly, flung a fur coat on for warmth, pulled on her riding boots and, grabbing her crop, rode over to Dreverhaven's house.
The butler took her coat and sent for a groom while Dreverhaven watched from the head of the stairs. Imperiously he ordered her into his room.
'It was wrong of you to come here when I had so expressly forbidden it,' he said with velvet menace, locking the door behind her.
'Yes, sir,' she said meekly as he took her riding crop from her.
'And wearing this outfit, too…' he mused, taking the whip in both hands and flexing it absently. 'Carefully chosen to inflame any man who saw you in it.'
It was a sober button-through cotton dress, long-sleeved and knee-length. It would hardly inflame a horny sailor returning from a year-long isolation. But that's exactly why she'd chosen it, it was calculated to play on his virgin-deflowering proclivities.
'But…it's very modest, sir.'
'Modest?' he exclaimed, placing the whip on his desk. 'Look, I can reach your breast without undoing any fastenings.'
He stretched out a hand and insinuated two fingers between the buttons. His cold fingers stroked the warm skin, making her gasp. He was still distant and clinical, watching her reaction.
'And I'm only one button away from this…'
He moved behind her and flicked one button out of its hole, reached inside and cupped her breast.
When he began slowly massaging it and rolling the nipple between his fingers, her head fell back onto his shoulder. He was still so detached, so controlled. It drove her wild.
'No,' he said sternly. 'I told you to look.'
Grasping her hair, he lifted her head upright and moved around in front of her again. 'You come here, two buttons away from this…'
The next button was released from its restraint and he was able to slip her breast out of the dress.
'…and you say it is modest?'
Still caressing and gently kneading, he bent his head to her throat and kissed it.
She moaned as his rough, hot lips worked their way unhurriedly downwards. Her head went back again - it was impossible to maintain her posture. She had no idea how he could be so self-possessed.
When he finally reached the dress' collar he stopped, looked deep in her eyes and smiled wickedly. His hand forced her head back up and he commanded with a whisper: 'Watch.'
She tried. His was a voice that was difficult to disobey but when he took her nipple in his mouth and began to tease with lips and tongue and teeth, she was utterly powerless.
He took another breather and moved behind her. She had no idea what he was going to do to her next and the anticipation was delicious.
Suddenly, she felt his hand between her thighs, detecting her wetness through the cotton. He said nothing, only stroked just once. The touch went away for a second but was soon renewed with a single finger inside her underwear, directly against her flesh. It wriggled a little, teasing her, making her tremble and cry out - but it refused to penetrate.
'I see,' he said simply and withdrew his hand.
He moved in front once again and he had the finger in his mouth. He sucked it languorously and grinned. 'That did not require any undressing,' he said meaningfully.
He sighed and took a step back. 'Two buttons away from all this and you say you came innocently?' he said conversationally. 'I say you knew very well what effect it would have on me and you came deliberately and maliciously to taunt me.'
'See what you have done,' he instructed, tilting her head down to witness the bulge in his trousers.
'Feel how hard you've made me.'
He took her hand and rubbed it against him.
She couldn't resist taking the initiative, although it would probably result in reprisal. She unzipped the trousers and set him free, tentatively reaching out to stroke him before she was pushed away.
'This is your fault,' he snarled, striking her with the back of his hand and throwing her on the bed. 'This was your plan. Your wicked, pre-meditated scheme.'
'Just when I'd made my peace with the loss, when I'd decided to seek the next level - to try something truly new…' he said, getting more and more agitated. 'You come and tempt me all over again. Well, I shall resist. I shall overcome. But you ̶ you harlot, you Jezebel, you WHORE!...'
'I am your whore.' she reminded him submissively, in an attempt to pacify him.
'…You must be disciplined,' he continued without appearing to notice. 'Get up.'
She stood up with trepidation and he seemed to subside somewhat. He paced for a while, his stride at first awkward and painful because of his swollen member until he regained mastery of himself.
She stood patiently, awaiting her fate. She had already learnt that it would be a mistake to right herself, to do up her dress again. There was nothing she wouldn't submit to from him but she still hoped there would be pleasure in it for her alongside the inevitable pain.
'I know what you deserve,' he said finally, crystalline eyes gleaming with evil intent. 'It's what you came for and it will be an excellent test of my resolve.'
Keeping his sea-ice eyes fixed on her, he took a step back and grasped the confiscated riding crop. Her eyes grew huge as she watched.
He nodded at the unspoken question. 'You are a wicked, wanton slut,' he stated calmly. 'You wanted this. Now you must beg for your punishment.'
'Please…' she started.
'When I tell you,' he snapped, cutting her off.
'Take off your clothes,' he instructed. 'Slowly. Seductively.'
She undid her buttons as quickly as she dared. She wanted this so much. She wanted him so badly.
She shrugged the dress to the ground and stepped out of it. She slipped her hands inside her knickers and began to slide them off.
'Turn around for that,' came the command.
She obeyed, lingering as she bent over, expecting the sting of leather at any moment but still relishing her exposure, her vulnerability before him. Besides, that's why she'd brought the whip. She certainly hadn't needed it for Brünnhilde; you needed shoulders like a docker to stop the mare at the best of times.
She had left the riding boots until last but he stopped her before she had even loosened one.
'The boots stay on,' he stated, firmly. So they did.
'On the bed,' he ordered. 'No! On your hands and knees. Facing away from me, as you very well know.'
Not even that impudence brought the lash she craved. It was as if he could read her mind and was denying her as he meant to deny himself.
'Now, back up right to the edge of the bed. Do not look.'
She shuffled backwards until her booted feet were over the end. She had no idea what was coming but she'd have died rather than have him stop.
'Spread your legs, Eva.' She widened her stance.
'Touch yourself.'
She hesitated for a second before obeying. She wanted to scream at him to end the agony of suspense but she knew he'd just draw out the torturous wait even longer.
'Your lips - open them for me.' She knew he didn't mean her mouth. She spread herself wide, twitching even at her own touch. She didn't know how much longer she could stand it.
'I must punish you. You understand that, don't you?' came the voice close behind her.
Finally!
'Yes sir,' she said eagerly.
'Now beg me to penetrate you.'
'Please, sir,' she implored.
'Please sir, what sir?' he taunted.
'Please take me, enter me, possess me. I need to feel you inside me.'
'You don't deserve to have me inside you,' he said harshly.
'No sir?' It was a hopeless whimper.
'You will not have the satisfaction of knowing you brought me to my fall,' he says definitely. 'But you will feel something touch you soon. You are to arch your back, take it inside you and use it instead of me.'
There was a horrible silence before he spoke with much more threat and relish than the words alone would suggest.
'I will watch.'