"Close enough to stake you, Dracula."
Lucard sat up abruptly, twisting in his chair and snarling savagely, ready to flicker out of existence. But it was only Dr. Varney, standing just behind him, wearing a highly critical expression. Irritated, he let himself slouch down in his chair again. "I'm tired, Dr. Varney. Too tired to play games."
"Exhausted is more like it," the other vampire said, coming around and putting his doctor's bag down on the table. "How much have you been working lately?"
"Eighty, ninety hours a week. I haven't counted. The new American microchip operation has been...time-consuming."
"And how much have you been sleeping?"
"I haven't."
"Not good." Varney pointed his stick at him. "You, old friend, are on the verge of collapse."
"I don't have time for this, doctor," Lucard muttered, shutting his eyes.
"What you don't have timefor is fainting dead away, so to speak"--Varney chuckled at his own pun--"in front of your competitors."
Lucard simply shrugged. The banter with Varney was familiar, but at that moment the mere idea of the effort it would take to keep it up was repugnant to him. If he just let him talk, he would finish--and leave--more quickly.
After a short silence, the doctor sat down in the other chair and said quietly, in a more sympathetic tone, "Bad dreams?"
Was it that obvious? Lucard looked at him. "Yes."
"I always knew you had a conscience in there somewhere, my boy."
"It's not conscience, doctor, it's..." He sought for words to explain the visions of Margo on the plane, the sudden plunge, the screams that faded into others, older, half-forgotten ones. "Defeat." He gave a small smile. "I have never cared much for defeat."
"And so you're pursuing your next triumph?"
"It has generally been known to work in the past."
"I see." Varney considered for a while. "I think you miss him, too."
For all his exhaustion, at that Lucard sat up a little straighter, snorting. "Surely you jest!"
"Not at all. He was good for you, Dracula, and you know it. The boy had his faults, to be sure, but he'd never let you go so long without having some fun."
"His last attempt at 'fun,' doctor, wasn't exactly my idea of a good time."
"I know. But you used to be able to relax around him. It's not good for you, having to be suspicious of everyone."
"It's better for me than being killed."
"Of course, my dear boy. But do you enjoy living completely alone?"
Lucard rolled his eyes. "Really, Varney. Save the psychoanalysis for those who believe they have souls."
"All right."
"All right?" Lucard was faintly startled. Varney didn't usually give up so easily. It was almost disappointing.
He nodded. "On one condition."
Ah, that was more like it. "Yes?"
He reached for his bag. "I want to hypnotize you. To relax you. Then you'll sleep tonight. Without dreams."
Lucard hesitated. He didn't like being hypnotised, but he was desperately tired, and the thought of being able to sleep without facing the ordeal was enough to make his resolution waver. And at least then Varney would let him be. "Very well, doctor. If it will persuade you to leave me out of your wild-eyed theories."
Varney leaned back in his chair, studying his patient. Lucard's head had dropped to the side, and his feet were propped on the ottoman. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was peaceful.
"Even you are subject to hypnosis," he said, and smiled to himself briefly, but quickly grew serious again. Drastic measures were clearly called for. Dracula was paler than he'd ever seen him, and his powers--or his will to use them--were obviously diminished. With the life he led, it was only a matter of time until someone exploited those weaknesses and put a permanent end to his career. That would never do. So Varney would have to be a little cleverer than his patient--for his own good, of course. It wouldn't be the first time. He scribbled down a few notes, then set the pad aside.
"I want you to relax your whole body," he said in a tone of mild suggestion, "muscle by muscle. Feel the tension drain out of you. You can hardly move. It feels so good to just lie back and relax..."
Lucard had dropped a little further back into his chair. That was good, but there was clearly only so far the patient would go with mere suggestion. His resistance ran deep. Varney got up and moved to stand behind the chair. "You're perfectly safe, Dracula. You're in the castle--your refuge--in your own chamber. No one else even knows where it is. Can you see it?"
"Yes."
"You're lying on your own bed. You've been working very hard, but now you are finally able to rest. The bed is very comfortable. You don't want to move at all."
Lucard nestled his head into the upholstery of the chair. "No."
Varney paused. This next step depended on certain observations and inferences he wasn't entirely certain of. But a good doctor had to trust his instincts, and he still remembered the--dare he say it, suggestive--way Klaus had once asked him, blushing and stammering, whether it was true that vampires couldn't..."Now you see that Klaus is there." Noticing Lucard's brow furrowing, he added quickly, "Your loyal creation, Klaus, who gave up everything to join you. The only person you really trust. He would never dream of disobeying you or trying to hurt you."
"No?" There was a ghost of cynicism on Lucard's mouth for a moment, so Varney hastened on.
"Of course not. You're very proud of Klaus, actually. He used to be a Helsing, but now he's yours. Look at him. You've made him just like you. His hair, his eyes, his clothes, his manner...You've taught him well. He's clever, quick, imaginative. He loves his life with you." He lowered his voice. "And he adores you. You can see it in his face, even when he's pretending to be as cool as you are. You can see it now, as he sits on the edge of the bed, looking at you with those blue eyes..."
Varney trailed off, waiting to see if his hunch were correct. Lucard did not disappoint him: smiling lazily, he murmured, "Klaus, come here."
"He's come into the bed. You can tell he's eager to please you." Varney touched his shoulders. "Don't you want him to?"
"Yes..."
Varney unbuttoned his shirt slowly. "The more he touches you, the better you feel. It's so easy to lie still and let him please you." He began skillfully massaging Lucard's shoulders, feeling the deep tension gradually dissolve under his fingers. "So easy..."
The other vampire was slouching further and further in the chair. Varney found a nipple and teased at it, causing him to breathe in sharply. Over and over, he moved his fingers in a circle, watching the tremors of pleasure go through Lucard's body as he murmured, "You've been lovers for quite a while, haven't you?"
"Yes," Lucard said, rather breathlessly. "I...introduced him to many of the more refined pleasures."
"And over the years, he's become adept, hasn't he? In fact, he's the only one who can please you like this, because he's the only one you trust enough. Look at him as he touches you. Making love with him is no different than making love with yourself." At this picture, Varney was suddenly aware of his own arousal, but pushed it away. Professional detachment, my boy! Now was the time to concentrate on the patient, whose fine white skin was so soft to the touch, whose slender body, trained to acuteness to the most rarefied sensation, was so shiveringly receptive...
He shook his head sharply and murmured, "How does that feel?"
"Ah...delightful..."
"Indeed." Varney reluctantly took his hands away, leaving a dazed Lucard groaning drowsily in protest. "All good things to those who wait, Dracula," he told him as he came around to the side and settled himself on the arm of the chair. He took a deep breath; this next step carried certain risks. Then with great deliberation, he reached down to fondle Lucard's penis through the smooth cloth of the pants. Yes, the patient was definitely showing symptoms of arousal. Lucard's eyelids flickered and he shifted, pressing upward against his hand.
"More, Klaus..."
He wouldmanage to be a difficult patient, even now...Varney withdrew his hand. "Did you like that?"
"Yes. Don't stop."
"Then lie still and let him do it." Varney ran his fingertips up and down, slowly, precisely. With each carefully-calculated touch, Lucard moaned softly, growing and hardening. Later, he told his own erection, which rose awkwardly in his lap. Not while I'm with a patient! Lucard certainly seemed to be responding well to the treatment; he was virtually supine, and his face wore an expression of dreamy pleasure. The anger, the tension, the hard-suppressed grief, were all flowing away. For the moment, anyway. It would probably prove to be a chronic condition. Perhaps I'll have to repeat the treatment...
Lucard's erection was now pressing hard against his pants. He unzipped them and coaxed the penis free, taking it firmly into his hand. He had always found it amusing that Lucard, so popular with the fair sex, was not, in fact, particularly large. There were some advantages to balding, after all. However, his size was enough to fill his hand as he slid it up and down the cool length. He flicked a thumb over the head and Lucard gasped, reflexively bringing his own hand up to cover his. "Come now, Dracula, you know you don't need to do that," he told him. "Klaus always does what you want, doesn't he?"
Varney started moving his hand faster, and Lucard sighed thickly and let his own drop away. "Listen to me carefully, Dracula. In the future, when you're tired, you'll want to relax. You'll remember this pleasure. You'll know you can feel it if you only relax. The more you relax, the more pleasure you'll feel. That's the beauty of it." He nudged the balls lightly with his free hand as his caresses became rapid and demanding. But the therapy was having its effect; Lucard did not try to control the pace, but simply lay back and allowed it to happen to him. He was murmuring to himself with pleasure. "Do you understand?"
Lucard nodded, very slowly.
"Good. Now...I think it's about time, isn't it? Just let it happen..." Varney gave a final series of swift strokes, and felt the spasm come. Lucard hardly stiffened at all; his expression simply dissolved into pure bliss.
"Mmmm...."
Varney released him and cleared his throat. "Now, you can feel yourself going down, even deeper, down and down, into restful, peaceful sleep. It's so dark...so quiet...you don't feel anything at all now. You won't dream at all. You're floating...floating away..."
He sat there for a few moments, ignoring the ache in his own groin, until he was sure that Lucard was deeply asleep. He carefully reached down and rearranged his patient's clothes--he had always believed it was best to keep a little mystery in his methods. He checked Lucard's pulse: even and regular. His breathing had slowed. There was even a little more color in his cheeks.
"Just what the doctor ordered," he said, smiling. Oh, he doubted that his stubborn patient would suddenly start getting the proper twelve hours of sleep every day, but really, he did think the operation had been a success.
I wonder how much I should charge for that session...he mused as he picked up his bag, eager to get home. And how should I word the bill?