Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Stray Dog ❯ Wanting ( Chapter 6 )

Disclaimer: Hellsing and all of its characters belong to Kouta Hirano, not to me. I am not making any money off of this piece of fanfiction.

Author's notes: Thank you everyone for all the support so far. Things start to get a little graphic in this chapter. Hope you like.

 

Chapter 6: Wanting

Seras leaned into the priest, breathing in his scent. He was a peculiar combination of soap and blood, rough wool, and the sticky sweet of lollipop kisses. She rested her head against his chest, felt his heartbeat against her ear, heard it quicken as his arms tightened around her. She had the sudden urge to sink her fangs into his neck…to lick his salty skin and taste the hot blood coursing through his veins. Her hands fisted in his shirt and she strained upward, standing on tip toes to nuzzle the warm skin where his shirt parted. He groaned, tilting his head to the side to allow her better access. His hands burned a trail over her body, from the small of her back, down over her hips and up her rib cage, barely grazing the sides of her breasts, to rest on her upper arms. She felt the bite of his fingers through her sleeves, painful, and looked up to find him staring down at her. His eyes were intent, boring into hers, naked desire and hatred warring there. He cocked his head, as if he hoped to understand what was happening between them, and the glare of the moon on his glasses obscured his thoughts from her.

She opened her mouth to speak, lost all confidence in her words, and bit her bottom lip instead, gently pulling it into her mouth as she looked up at him. Her nipples were hard and she wondered, absurdly, whether he could feel them through the fabric of their clothes. She blushed at the thought.

His lips were on hers then, with bruising pressure, and she found herself unable to think of much else. He shoved her backward and she landed, with a bounce, on the sagging old bed. He followed her quickly, forcing one knee between her legs, up against the hottest part of her, one arm braced above his head while the other ran up her thigh, stealing up under her skirt and down over her backside. His lips crushed hers, his tongue demanding entrance into her mouth, and she revelled in the heat of his body, hard against her.

His mouth left hers, breathing hard, and he paused only long enough to rip off his glasses and toss them aside, before lowering his mouth to kiss the nape of her neck. She shuddered beneath him and felt her thighs tingle in anticipation. His free hand cupped one full breast through her shirt, before tugging savagely at her buttons, popping them and ripping the fabric in his haste. He took her hands and drew them over her head, pinning them down together with one hand. She closed her eyes and arched her back as his other hand slid up her arm, then gentle fingers traced the curve of her cheek.

She felt cold silver against her breast, hissed a little as her flesh burned. Red eyes opened to watch in horrified anticipation as he dragged the flat blade between her breasts, from her collarbone down to her belly. She knew it was coming even before he reared back and plunged the bayonet through the center of her chest, but something in her made her stay still, resisting the urge to fight back. She bucked and snarled as pain shot through her, breath coming heavily as the scent of old blood filled the air.

Anderson drew back, eyes heavy with lust as his hands reached for his belt. Seras' wild gaze matched his, never wavering, even when she heard the jangle of metal as his buckle popped open. He leaned over her, his weight causing the mattress to sink, and she shivered to feel his breath on her ear, his whiskers on her cheek. “Spread yer legs,” he rasped, running one calloused hand up her thigh, “and scream my name.”

*

Seras shot up in bed, smacking her head quite smartly on the lid of her coffin as she did so. “Fuck!” she swore, slumping back down and bringing one hand up to cradle the quickly forming goose egg on her forehead. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. JesusChristOhMyGodHolyShitBloodyFuckingHell.” She arched in the confined space of the coffin, one hand still on her head, the other on her chest, checking for injuries, as she remembered the contents of her dream. Her cheeks flamed as she felt the slickness between her thighs, and were her heart still beating, she was sure it would have been going a mile a minute.

She popped the lid and sat up, grateful for the fresh, cool breeze coming through the open window of her hotel room. She stumbled out of the coffin, her knees like jelly, and made her way to the washroom, to splash some cold water on her face…and maybe take a cold shower. She pulled back the shower curtain and leaned over the tub, turning on the cold water tap, full blast, when a sudden, paralyzing thought struck her.

Could Alucard read her thoughts from this far away?

***

Integra Wingates Hellsing was the coldest bitch that Frank had ever laid eyes on. Here he was, presenting her with an official pardon, signed by the Queen, of all people, and she sat there, looking for all the world as though she were offended by his very presence. She hadn't stopped glaring it him since he walked in the door, hadn't even cracked a smile as he produced the key to her handcuffs. Everyone smiled, to be free of the cuffs, but not Miss Hellsing. Rich snob, he thought, probably born to a life of luxury, with a silver spoon in her mouth.

“May I extend Her Majesty's regrets?” He said, instead, as she sneered at him, rubbing her wrists. Oh, for God's sake, what did she expect? For the Queen to come deliver the news in person?

***

Seras wondered, for the seventh time in as many minutes, why in the hell she'd told Anderson all that she had. Certainly, her recent dream was a direct result of their strange and impromptu sharing session.

The question remained, however, what on Earth had possessed her to share her deepest feelings with the Judas Priest in the first place? The man promised to kill her every time she saw him, for Christ's sake! He'd caused her immeasurable amounts of physical pain, slaughtered several of her co-workers and friends, and cut off her master's head, among all the other horrific things she was sure he'd done!

And despite it all, she'd felt incredibly comfortable talking to him. He could be remarkably understanding when he wasn't being a crazy zealot, and it confused her to try and reconcile the two sides of Alexander Anderson. Caring, kind protector of orphaned children, and murderous, religious nutter. It hurt her brain. And now she had to deal with dreamworld Anderson, whose cruel touch made her body sing, and whose eyes spoke of sex and blood.

***

“It's good to see you home, Sir.” Walter sketched an awkward bow, hampered by his wheelchair. “I've been waiting for you to sign my cast,” he smiled impishly, and she couldn't help the answering grin that spread on her own face.

“Which one?” She asked, taking him in with her eyes. His right leg was covered in plaster from foot to hip, toes unabashedly bared to the world. His right arm was covered in white as well, the forefinger and thumb of that hand sticking out awkwardly in their splints. Beneath his shirt he was lumpy, the telltale sign of padding around his ribs. “I thought I gave strict orders that you were to stay in bed and rest.”

“You should know me better than that, Sir Integra,” Walter chided, reaching out to pat her hand. “You should know that nothing on Earth could keep me from welcoming you home.”

***

Anderson shifted, uncomfortably aware of the woman next to him. Something had changed between them since her outpouring of emotion, and he wasn't so sure it was for the better. She stood closer to him than she'd ever bothered to before; so close he could see the blush in her cheeks and the odd sparkle in her eyes. His nearness, too, seemed to agitate her somehow. She'd gotten clumsier… and louder, more ridiculous. She seemed distracted.

Her pink cheeks and sudden ditziness weren't the only thing he'd begun to notice, however. He found himself catching the scent of her hair, like strawberries, and the slightly musty perfume of her skin. She smelled like a summer churchyard in the rain, with the scent of freshly dug graves strong in the air. He remembered, also, the feeling of her soft body, pressed against his, and wondered if her shirt had always been so tight, her hips so enticingly rounded. He wondered things about her that he'd never wondered about any woman before, in all his life.

Anderson sucked in his breath and forced himself to concentrate on the ghoul coming at him. He spared a glance out the corner of his eye, to make sure that his companion was holding her own. A thrill went down his spine and tightened in his balls as he watched her blow the brains out of her enemy with a well placed shot to the head, before following up with a killing blast through the heart. She was spattered in blood, and she had a speck of - he suspected - intestine clinging to her cheek.

God in Heaven, she was beautiful.

***

Enrico Maxwell was pissed off. He'd lost six more men to a mission that Anderson could have completed easily. He'd just finished yet another meeting with the Council; an hour spent begging and pleading them to reinstate the regenerator, but they were being stubborn. Especially since the release and pardoning of that sow, Hellsing. The world was looking for another person upon which to pin the blame, and Anderson had never exactly been the most inconspicuous of operatives. There had been rumbles already, rumours which Section XIII had managed to suppress, but if the church at large, or its followers, caught on, and Iscariot's activities were made public knowledge…things could get messy.

Luckily for Enrico Maxwell, he didn't give a shit about making a mess. Messes could always be cleaned up later, provided one had the right tools for the job.

***

“So, have you thought about it at all?” Seras asked, beating the ashes from her uniform. Anderson tried not to notice how the motion caused her breasts to bounce ever so slightly. And failed. “About coming back to England and joining the Hellsing Organization?”

“Och, Draculina, did ye not say, as ye'd not try and convert me?” She'd been true to her word thus far, never mentioning Integra's offer, and to be truthful, he hadn't much room in his brain lately for much other than the petite vampire and her enormous tits.

“I know,” she said, “But Sir Hellsing has been pardoned. She'll be back home by now, putting the pieces of her organization back together, and she'll need me back.”

“So ye've been summoned home, then?”

“No, not yet.” She fixed him in her sight, but he would not meet her gaze. “But I can't be spared indefinitely, and I've been here almost a month, chasing you around. Integra's not one to waste her resources on fruitless pursuits.”

“Why d'ye serve her?” Anderson asked , bluntly, after an uncomfortable moment of silence. “Ye serve a human master and ye kill yer own kind, but I canna see any reason. Now Alucard, I have heard that he is bound, aye? But ye, ye're free tae choose, aren't ye?”

“I am,” she said, “and I choose this.” She shrugged, simply, and he frowned at her, finally meeting her eyes.

“Ye know she'll kill ye in the end, don't ye? She'll use ye up, and then when all the others are dead and gone, it'll be yer turn. Ye and that Nosferatu filth she keeps.” He spat, viciously, on the ground.

“Yes, I know.” She said the words so simply, as if they were meaningless, and he felt anger bubble up within him. How dare she brush her own life off so callously!

“Then whey do it?” He exploded, “Why work tae save someone who will betray ye in the end?”

She smiled, a little sadly, and he felt his anger deflate into nothing. “It's not really betrayal if you know about it, is it?” Anderson felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. She had no illusions, this girl, no deluded belief that she would be able to live in the harmonious world she was helping to create. “I was a police officer before this, and it always seemed to me that in order to save so many others, my life is of little consequence.”

“But…yer soul, Draculina,” he persisted, almost pleading with her.

“No man can kill a monster, Anderson, you know that. It takes another monster to do that job. That night in Cheddars, I became a monster because I was afraid to die, but then I learned what I can do with this Godless existence. I think that if I can save the lives and souls of so many innocent people, then maybe my own salvation isn't so important. Besides,” she brightened, grinning at him, “didn't you promise to help me out with that?” He was blinded by her, by the sweet, earnest goodness in that smile, and he'd no idea what to do about it. He thought that if he were smart, he'd kill her right then, blindside her with a bayonet to her fool heart, but he was too stunned by the sheer force of her.

“Ye're right,” he said, weakly, after a moment. “Ye'll die by my blades, and it shall cleanse yer soul of all the evil ye wallow in. Ye have my word.”

Her grin dampened, but a trace of it remained in her eyes. “Why do all of our conversations end with you promising to kill me?”

“Because they have tae.” He returned her look; the same bittersweet smile reflected in his eyes.