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Turnabout

by E. R. Fiennes

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          "Thank you, sir! Do you need anything in particular?"
          "Yes. A few moments alone."
          "I'm sorry, sir, I'm not supposed to--Oh. I'll be back in five minutes?"
          "Make it fifteen. It's so easy for me to lose track of time."

          Klaus stood frozen at the sink, water pouring over motionless hands, listening to the exchange between the attendant and someone who had come into the antechamber of the labyrinthine marble restrooms a few minutes after him. Someone with a very familiar voice, someone he had been nervously watching out of the corner of his eye as he sat in his box all evening. Someone who, unlike Klaus, did not reflect in the long mirror running above the sinks, even though his footsteps rang on the floor right behind him. Dracula.
          "Lucard," he said, keeping his tone low and controlled. He wasn't going to seem afraid.
          "Well, well! This is a surprise," came the rich tenor. "I would have expected to find you at the polka concert in the Domplatz tonight. Or weren't there enough schnitzel vendors there to suit your taste?"
          Klaus flushed. "I never liked polka," he said quickly, turning around. "Or schnitzel. That's my father. You know that."
          Lucard was regarding him with a mocking smile. As usual, he was dressed to perfection in evening clothes. "True. But now that you're a Helsing again, what else can one expect? It's only a matter of time until you join the Jonas Carey Fan Club."
          "No, it isn't," he said heatedly. His father had cheerfully assumed the same thing, and had been making him wince with it over and over again. He hadn't been able to bring himself to explain to Gustav, but he wasn't going to let Lucard think it, too. "I haven't changed that much. Thirteen years don't just vanish!"
          "I'm not so sure of that." Lucard looked Klaus over from head to foot with a cool deliberation which made him flush again, this time more slowly and deeply. "You never did master evening clothes, and I can see you're relapsing already."
          Klaus glanced down. "What's the matter with my clothes?"
          "Really, Klaus. The fit is atrocious, the fabric is shoddy..."
          Lucard was right. He hadn't had much money, after all, to rent the tuxedo with. He had been trying to convince himself that everything was fine, but he couldn't anymore, not under Lucard's appraising gaze. He shifted uncomfortably, now wanting nothing more than to go home and change.
          "...and your jacket, as usual, is crooked." Lucard reached out and straightened it, then cocked his head and studied the effect. "There, that's a slight improvement." Then he touched Klaus's shoulders again, slipping the fabric between his fingers and twisting his mouth at the texture as if he could not believe it.
          Klaus felt a sudden surge of frustration. He had missed this world so badly; he had just wanted to come back for the night. But here was Alexander, barring the way, as he always had, making him feel he didn't belong. He had tried so hard to belong, and Alexander had never admitted that he did. Always there was something that was not quite right about him, something to criticize. And now he wasn't even a vampire anymore, and Alexander was still shutting him out. Who had given him the power, anyway?
          "Let me go," he snapped, reaching up and trying to push Lucard's hand away from him. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"
          Lucard did not appear to notice the gesture. He smiled faintly. "Let us say it is because the sight of you here tonight makes me sentimental, inclined to acts of charity. You do not want to be left alone."
          "Of course I do."
          "Ah, you do? That's why, I suppose, you came to the symphony on a Friday when you know quite well that I have Friday tickets. That's why, I suppose, tonight you've been watching me more closely than you've been watching the orchestra. That's why, I suppose, you slipped out in the middle of a movement--much to the annoyance of your neighbors, I might add--after staring at me for several minutes on end. If you tried any harder to encourage me to leave you alone, we'd end up in the gossip column of the paper together."
          "You're always laughing at me," Klaus growled. "Stop it." But Lucard only shook his head, smiling more broadly. A rush of rage came over Klaus. He wanted to knock that smile off Alexander's face--to hit him. Now that he was human again, and free of his control--to hurt him, to make him feel him for once. But he couldn't--the vampire's arms were in the way.
          So he kissed him instead. Hard. Later on he would look back and not quite be able to understand the sequence of feeling which had taken place in those few seconds. But at that moment he simply revelled in Alexander's reaction, the way he started ever so slightly, his mouth opened to him, his hands slid down his arms. He was so much thinner than Klaus, and smaller: it was easy to crush him close as he raked his fingers through his hair. All that delicacy, which he could almost gather in one arm, which he could shatter if he pleased. And Alexander finally, startlingly, marvelously responding to him, letting him do what he wanted. He felt nearly witless with satisfaction.
          He lowered his head a little to kiss along Alexander's jawline and down the throat, noting with savage pleasure the tiny reflexive flinch as he passed over the vulnerable line of the artery. He paused to nip at the soft skin there, wishing suddenly that he did have fangs again and could break it, so he could feel Alexander's reaction to having the tables turned. But even as he shivered, barely perceptibly, under Klaus's mouth, Lucard was pulling them backwards, somehow getting a stall door open with his foot. The two of them stumbled into the relative privacy of the stall without breaking their clinch.
          Klaus pushed Lucard up against the door. He was abruptly aware of wanting things he had not wanted since that fateful night so many years before. His body felt different and strange to him, so warm and heavy and straining. He was not entirely sure he liked it, but he knew it was beyond his control. "Still feeling...sentimental?" he whispered harshly as he tugged at Lucard's collar.
          "Oh, you have no idea," Lucard murmured, meeting his gaze with an utterly provocative sidelong glance. Klaus felt he had to kiss those eyes shut; once finished, he drew back to survey his handiwork. Alexander was leaning against the door, collar open, hair tumbled down nearly to his closed eyes, a faint color in his cheeks, breathing ever so slightly faster than normal. The sight set off another surge of confused impulses in Klaus, and he began to pull at Lucard's shirtfront. His fingers were shaking; he could hardly get his hands to act together; but some of the buttons finally gave way and he could reach into the shirt to caress the other man's skin roughly.
          As he slid his arms in further, Lucard's body became jammed between his own and the door, and once again Klaus was aware of strange, almost-forgotten sensations--sensations he could not bear to have stop. Desperately, he raked his fingernails over Lucard's back, hissing, "You have to--Alexander--I need--"
          He felt Lucard stiffen for a moment, withdrawing a little, and was instantly filled with fear. Could it slip away, just like that? Without even meaning to, he dug his fingers into Lucard's shoulders, pulling him closer again. He had to--he had to--
          Then Lucard reached up and entangled his own fingers in his hair. "Not here, Klaus," he breathed into his ear.
          Klaus was torn between relief and blind suspicion. "Where?"
          Lucard caught the lobe between his teeth for a moment, as if testing it, then let it go. "The Savoyarde."
          The most expensive hotel in town, only a few blocks away. "Now?"
          Lucard laughed, but it was a throaty, sensual laugh, not his usual cool mocking one. It made Klaus ache all over. "Indeed."
          Somehow they separated themselves and got out of the stall. On any other occasion, Klaus would have been petrified by the sight that greeted them as they emerged--another concertgoer, leaning casually against the wall and observing them calmly. But that night he was conscious only of a quick, peculiar thrill, of feelings he could not stop to analyze. Lucard didn't react, either; he merely pushed his fingers through his hair, adjusted his shirt and straightened his jacket as they passed out into the lobby, then down the steps of the building.

          The limousine was waiting for them when they reached the curb, which was just as well--it had been all Klaus could do to restrain himself once they were outside. He slid in first, and found himself abruptly plunged into an atmosphere of expensive, luxurious comfort much more intense than that of the concert hall. The cool air, dim lights, and soft leather he was surrounded with sent another spasm through his brain, and he turned to pull sharply at Lucard's arm, causing him to tumble into the car, nearly on top of him.
          "Klaus--!" he half-protested, starting to push himself up, but the limousine took off at that moment, and they both fell down onto the seat. At the delicious impact, Klaus reflexively clutched Lucard closer, savoring his brief and ineffective struggle to regain his balance. Good as that was, though, it was not quite what he wanted, and so he rolled them over, pinning Lucard down with all his weight. The two of them squirmed together until Klaus found a comfortable position. He wanted Alexander to be helpless, to have to lie underneath him and take it, take it all. He was flushed now, and Klaus could feel his heart pounding. Oh, yes. So handsome, and so pliable, and so his...
          He kissed Lucard once more, this time sliding his tongue into his mouth. He probed ruthlessly, wanting to explore--to claim--as far as he possibly could. Lucard's mouth was cool and curiously sweet; it tasted of...creme brulee? A wisp of memory crossed his mind: they had eaten it one warm summer evening on a terrace in southern France, just back from Cannes. He had not been allowed to hunt that night, he remembered, or for many nights afterwards, though he had been starved for blood. Discipline, Lucard had said. He forced Lucard's shoulders down with his forearms, gripping his hair firmly with both hands, as he explored further, pressing harder. They were moving together again, but Klaus held onto the kiss until the rapidly growing needs for both air and something else entirely which were shrilling along every nerve forced him to break it. Gasping for breath, he looked down at Lucard. His eyes were closed, his delicate, narrow lips just parted. Klaus could see his tongue slide through his teeth to touch the lips, and he nearly bent his head to capture the lower one beneath his own teeth. Somehow, however, he was able to resist that blinding impulse in favor of another, stronger one. He half-sat up, pushing Lucard to the floor of the car, then dragged him by his lapels to a kneeling position in front of him.
          Moonlight, dimmed a little by the tint of the windows, suddenly flooded the other man's face, making him look much paler than he usually did. In that light his eyes were dark and unreadable, his sharp, fragile features defined with extraordinary clarity. It revealed a remoteness in his expression which instantly made Klaus want to break through it, but something else compelled him to wait or several heartbeats, staring at the handsome face, savoring the sheer ferocity it filled him with. He had wondered why, even when he had been most content, his new life had seemed so flat. In that pause, he knew. There had been no real desire in it. He had never wanted anything as a human as intensely as he had yearned for blood every night of his vampire life. Never, that is, until now
          "So, you always know what I want?" he demanded softly, brushing his fingertips across Lucard's cheekbone, then letting them settle at the back of his neck.
          Lucard looked at him, inscrutable, for a moment longer, then wordlessly dropped his head. Klaus felt fabric shifting, and his throat knotted in anticipation. Fingers touched him lightly for a few seconds, freeing him, each quick brush jolting his nervous system, then Lucard's mouth engulfed him.
          For a moment the shock and sweetness of something so improbable and wonderful happening--happening to him, who never got what he wanted--outweighed the physical sensations, but only for a moment. He sighed deeply, and his head fell back against the seat. As it did so, however, he caught a glimpse of the rearview mirror from beneath half-lowered lids. He could see the chauffeur's eyes in it. The man was watching them.
           "Hey!" he gasped, sitting back up, instinctively pushing Lucard's head away, wishing half a second later he hadn't.
          "What's wrong?" Lucard looked up at him, distractingly beautiful even in that situation.
          "The--the driver," Klaus stammered.
          "What about him?"
          "He can see us. We can't..." He blushed, unable to speak the words.
          Lucard raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
          "With someone else watching?"
          He laughed softly. "Oh, Klaus," he murmured, looking down again and letting his breath tickle him, "how bourgeois. You know better than anyone how discreet my servants are. No one ever talks. No one has the power." He slid his fingers slowly back onto him. "But, if you don't want to--"
          "Oh, God," Klaus said desperately, and pushed Lucard's head down with both hands. This time, he shut his eyes all the way. He was troubled by the thought of the driver, but as he slumped there, breathing hard, while Lucard did something extraordinary to him with his tongue, the idea quickly became less and less disturbing. In fact, it was...stirring...to think that he should be having sex in the back seat of a limousine, hidden away from prying eyes by the tint of the windows, but shut in with a dull-eyed servant bound to utter secrecy by the power of his master. His master, Alexander Lucard, who commanded the fate of thousands of men and billions of dollars--who was now kneeling, still in his exquisite evening clothes, before Klaus, using his tongue in such impossibly clever ways to please him. Klaus thrilled to picture it: cool, proud Alexander's perfect golden head in his lap, his white, slender fingers gripping his waist, and that reserved, sensitive mouth obediently moving over him. The image made him tighten his fingers in Lucard's hair.
          Lucard responded by moving more quickly, and Klaus groaned in appreciation. And yet, he became aware, he almost wished that he hadn't. He could already feel that he could not go on much longer; his hips were beginning to move of their own accord. But he didn't want to finish. Didn't want the delicious tension, building in him so ruthlessly, to dissipate. Didn't want the moment, with all its completely impossible, wholly unexpected, utterly arousing circumstances to end. He didn't, however, have a choice, not with Lucard moving with such intimate urgency, not with his own body rising to meet him now. He found himself taking over the pace, driving it even faster, his legs locked around Lucard's back...
          "Alexander, I'm--" he cried, forcing down the other's head fiercely one last time, and release swept over him--release of so many things, more than he could even try to realize at that moment. He sat bolt upright for a long moment, trembling, still holding Lucard's head tightly. Then he slid down sideways onto the seat with a long sigh, pulling the unresisting other up next to him. As he lay here with his eyes closed, his breath slowing, his mind gradually cleared and settled. Neither of them said anything. Klaus felt a quiet, drowsy wonder at what he had in his arms. Lucard was a slender bundle of smooth clothing, soft skin, and silken hair, a luxury to have lying against him--but he was also something more now. Klaus stroked his fingers over those textures--and over the something more--with great gentleness until sleep claimed him.

          When he awoke, he found himself staring at a very familiar ceiling. It was not that of the Savoyarde. No, he was in Lucard's rooms at the castle, lying on a velvet sofa in the largest chamber. He took in a quick breath and tried to sit up, but could not get his balance--his hands were tied behind his back. Lucard himself was standing at one of the arched windows, looking out into the night.
          "What...?" Klaus spluttered, confused, trying again to sit up and failing again.
          "Ah, you're awake," Lucard said, turning around. His hair and dress had been restored to their usual exquisite order. Klaus was only further confused by the twinge of desire the sight inspired in him. "I was beginning to fear I might have to start without you."
          "Start? What are you talking about? Why am I tied up like this?"
          Ignoring the questions, Lucard walked across the room to him, taking up a seat in a black wooden chair next to the sofa. "You know, Klaus," he said conversationally, leaning slightly forward, "I really must thank you. I could not have contrived a better set of circumstances myself if I had made arrangements for months."
          Klaus's confusion was rapidly crystallizing into fear. "Arrangements?"
          "For your disappearance, of course. You conveniently left your coat in your seat tonight, so your father will find out where you spent the evening. When he learns that I was there as well, he will be alarmed, of course, but after he speaks to that man we saw I doubt he will be too eager to attempt a rescue. If I were to carry you off against your will he would pursue me to the ends of the earth to save you, but I don't think he will have the heart to try to save a faithless child who has chosen vampirism for the second time."
           Klaus stared at him. "You don't mean it." But he did, he knew that he did. What could he have been thinking?
          Lucard smiled. "Of course I do. You have been most obliging. Oh, there were a few details in the execution of the plan I did not care for, but, then, you are hardly the first person ever to be rough with me." He looked down for a moment, as if considering the point. When he looked up again, his eyes glowed gold. "As a matter of fact, I expect that will make me enjoy this all the more."
           Klaus cringed away in horrified anticipation, remembering the last time. He felt as if the weakness were already beginning. "No," he whispered. "Please don't. I'm sorry. You acted like you wanted--"
          Lucard laughed and rose, leaning over Klaus, pinning him with one hand to the sofa. A terrible dreaminess came over him, and he felt himself relaxing against his will, his fingers uncurling against the velvet. Meanwhile, Lucard slowly undid his collar. "'I wanted'? It seems to me that we were exclusively occupied with what you wanted. Really, it's unjust of you to want to back out now. You're being very selfish." He fingered his neck for a moment, then knelt down, bending very close. Klaus could feel the chill of his breath against his skin. "After all, my dear Klaus, turnabout is fair play."