A/N: Oh gosh, such a big break; Uni; fresher's flu; writers' block;an unwarranted complete system reboot... these all conspired to delay any updates. But never fear, I have a whole week where I'm meant to be doing stuff, but I'm not at Uni, so I can procrastinate like mad, churn out updates and just cram all my work into the last three days :D
That having been said, please enjoy the latest installment,

The Prelude to Pain.

Quiet: The absence of noise, or bustle; calm; silence - rare in the Hellsing house, but not unheard of. Today, and indeed every day following their coupling on Seras' table, had been quiet. The No Life King hadn't known such quiet in a good many years. There always seemed to be so much that needed doing, scum that needed hunting, humans that needed rescuing. But whatever there was to be done, the Hellsing infantry could apparently handle it and the only interactions to be had with the world upstairs had so far been few and far between.

Sir Integra had called for him twice in the past week and even then it was only to enquire after the condition of his fledgling. He replied that he had no idea how - or even where - she was and he had been dismissed promptly. He had no inclinations to roam the upstairs hallways or the corridors of the dungeons and had been, thus far, perfectly content to lounge on his throne and snack on a few blood packets that appeared outside his door every so often. He neither knew, nor cared how they got there, but they were welcomed none the less. This was the first time in a long time that he had felt so restful, so peaceful, so… Tamed…

There was a leak somewhere in the ceiling of the dungeons; it had obviously been raining outside all week and the moisture had perforated the old brickwork, seeping through it and gathering on its underside in little droplets. It now fell to the dungeon floor in a steady rhythm, quite unchecked and quite irritating. Unable to sleep, Seras had taken to exploring the dungeons, hoping to quell the anger she felt towards the situation she'd gotten herself into. The memories themselves were beginning to blur into one another, as though she were drunk when it happened, but the events were still as clear as ever. They'd licked each other's wounded pride, egos, even flesh and then he'd left with nary a word. They hadn't seen each other since and it had been a good week and a bit since she'd slept in her coffin. She was horny, furious and utterly exhausted and yet the droplets of water that now bounced off the end of her nose cut through those inhibitors like a hot knife through butter.

Questions – some she'd been avoiding and some she'd never even thought of before – began welling up in her mind and – like a strange rendition of Chinese water torture - the steady beads of water forced her to confront each one.

Did she like her master?

Yes, in a sense of the word. He wasn't bad to look at most days and his company was certainly preferable to having nothing at all. Since her ascension to full Vampyrress he had been a lot more accommodating and they managed not to fight 99% of the time.

But did that amount to actual affection between them?

Not really. It was more of a relationship of balancing each other out. She needed him to restore her faith in her own humanity sometimes, prove to her that she wasn't as much of a monster as she potentially could be; he needed her to bring him out of his deep, dark hole, return him to the world of the relative living lest he lose himself entirely to his brooding and chin-stroking.

So what could be done about this? Or better yet, what did she want to be done about this?

Well, a little genuine affection wouldn't go amiss. What shall henceforth be known as The Table Incident couldn't really count as genuine affection, but it was a prelude to it, surely? A preview if you will and now that she'd seen it, she wanted the full thing.

But with him?

Why not?

Did he like her back?

She wasn't sure…

Why not?

He didn't seem like the type to show affection, not in full anyway. Teasing was a part of him, just like worrying about things was a part of her, inseparable and dependent on one another. If she wanted him to show affection, it would be a lie, a hoax at best. Even if his intentions were to make her feel better by showing some semblance of the stuff, it wouldn't be genuine and genuine was what she wanted.

Was that all she wanted?

If it was, then any sort of genuine reaction would do. Even if it was something less than affectionate. Even if it was an obsession bourn from hatred. Even if she had to force him into it. Anything would do. Right?

Seras shook her head, stopping staring at the ceiling and wiped a hand over her nose and mouth, ridding herself of the moisture, much as her master had done on the culmination of their coupling. She looked at her wet palm in the darkness. It was strange; to look at something when there was no light. It was colourless and the water, being utterly textureless was nearly unperceivable. The only way she had of identifying it was by the feel of it. There was no light to glance off it, it reflected nothing, she wasn't even able to see if the drops – she was sure there had to be some – ran from side to side. It wasn't a solid and yet here it was on the palm of her hand, as real and vapid as ever it could be. She was struck by the analogy it made of her relationship with her master – could she call him that still? He had told her not to – tangible, and yet completely undefinable. Like she could touch it but didn't know what it was. But if she could touch it, she could feel it, and it she could feel it, then he could feel it, and it he could feel it, then she could cause him pain. And since pain seemed to be the order of the day – on her part at least – she didn't see why this wasn't an excellent place to start at.

She wiped her hand off on her jogging bottoms and turned back down the corridor. It was time to begin defining their relationship.

What had, so far, been promising to be another quiet day sat on his throne and sipping blood from a wine glass, was dashed to the four winds when the No Life King's chamber door flew open and bounced off the wall. A warning shriek was emitted by its hinges, before they exploded from the pressure exerted upon them by the Vampyrress - clad in rugby sweater, jogging bottoms and rabid-rabbit socks - stood on the other side of the now-gaping hole in the wall.

Seras stomped over the door – which had toppled to the floor in the wake of its late-hinges' demise – and veritably marched across the room, looking as though she meant business. There were, surprisingly, no thoughts that crossed the King's mind as his glass of blood was swatted from his fingers and smashed to the floor in as unceremonious a fashion as his door had been and he made no sounds at all as Seras' lips met his. Her hands clawed immediately into his hair and the chair – which she had hit at full force – began to sway backwards.

Where once he may have flailed in an attempt to delay the inevitable, now the King found his hands full of curves and flesh and the throne was allowed to crash over backwards, unchecked. The two spilled from it, sliding over its back and onto the cold, hard stone.

In this endeavour, the King had very little participation, becoming more of a spectator in his own sport as fangs clashed, fingers clawed and his clothing was ripped from him in dribs and drabs; his cravat flying over here; his coat over there. The waist-coat was simply ripped to shreds and would have to be replaced and a report as to what had happened to it – it was as close to a uniform as he was likely to get after all – would have to be written up and submitted, embarrassingly enough. For the first time in any sexually orientated encounter, the No Life King found himself not only going quite limp and – for lack of any other word – spare, he also found himself out of breath. While he may have been left relatively tame by the events of The Table Incident, Seras apparently had not.

However, before he could recover from his apparent stupor and respond to the reality that he was in fact, being ravished, Seras got up and left. Leaving him with only one thought; 'What the bloody hell just happened?'.

A/N: Well Folks, that, as they say, is it. The come back has been made and production shall therefore, hopefully, resume at full force. I have plenty of half written installments, I just needed something to link The Table Incident with everything else. And here it is.

Don't worry, Seras' thoughts will be explained (I had in fact already explained them all in the first version of this chapter, but the aforementioned impromptu system reboot trashed it) in later chapters, just give me a bit of time ok. I wrote all this this morning and haven't had time to sort through the rest yet.

All dedications will likely come at the end of this story and I'd say we're about half way there.

Please give feedback, critique (although I can't promise I'll take it well :P) and compliments are all accepted.

-Lapin

P.S. If you're crazy and you know it shake your meds! *Kalakalakalakalakalakalakala*