Archive of Our Own ^beta

Trevor curses and swears when the hostess tells him all the rooms in the inn are already taken. The woman seems too full of christian spirit to be intimidated by his mouth and offers them an empty stall in the stable, assuring them that the hay has just been replaced, so they are bound to be warm and comfortable enough for the night. 

“That’s the best I can do for you tonight. Unless, of course, you’d be willing to pay triple the price, in which case I would gladly let you throw one of our guests out into the streets yourself,” the hostess graciously suggests.

Trevor begrudgingly accepts the decidedly unfair cost of their less-than-ideal accommodation, inquiring the cause for the disproportionate frenzy that seems to have taken over the town. As it turns out, the good people of the town are very devoted to Saint Lucy. There is going to be a big function at the local cathedral, with chanting and singing and joyous parading in the streets for most of the night. 

“We managed to stumble into town just in time for the big celebration,” he grimly informs his two traveling companions. “Looks like they already readied the torches for tonight. We ought to watch out for the pitchforks.”

Sypha and Alucard take the news with far more grace than him. “We’re less likely to attract attention, isn’t that our priority?” they remind him, ever so annoyingly practical.

Trevor’s blasphemous muttering about the many inconveniences of the Church simmers down once they are offered a free round of drinks to make up for the inconvenience. The hall is spacious and dimly-lit, the heat and scent of the kitchen filtering in from behind the counter fill the room with a homey, welcoming air. The atmosphere is joyous and light-hearted and the ale is fine. Trevor could think of worse places to linger in and warm their aching bones. So they do.

Luckily, the inn is not the place to attract the most pious. Many people venture in for a hot meal or a toast, filtering in and out throughout the evening. Soon the place grows crowded and the air fills with jovial laughter and the enticing aroma of a good stew. A minstrel makes his entrance and some merry-looking folks toss him some coin to get him to sing. To everyone’s merriment, he plays a lively ballad. Everyone cheers and toasts and sings along. It’s easy to distract themselves from the cold night they will have to spend on the hay.

Sypha samples her mulled wine, pacing herself to make it last, enjoying the feeling of the hot, fuming cup in her hands. Trevor seems to have completely forgotten about his disgruntlement, taking hearty sips of his third ale. At some point, his arm finds its way around Sypha’s shoulders. Normally, she would have teased him for the familiarity, scolded him for letting the alcohol loosen his mind, but she’s feeling lenient that night. The thick fur donning the hunter’s cloak is a comfortable resting place for her head as she listens to the minstrel strum his instrument, committing the words and melody to memory, planning to include it in the recount of her travels when she meets up with her family again. If she ever does. She leans into the hunter’s firm, warm embrace. It’s not the right night to feel alone.

Alucard sits on the opposite bench, sipping from his own cup of mulled wine. Nobody has sat next to him. He’s always had an air about him that compels people to keep their distance. Sypha looks at him. She’s always presumed it’s the predator in him that has that effect on people. Yet, he looks especially human that night. The shadow on his brow is lighter than usual, the eerie symmetry of his beautiful features warmed and softened by the dim lamplight. His expression conveys a sense of mellow enjoyment. It almost looks like there’s a slight flush to his cheeks, lessening the natural pallor of his face. If Sypha didn’t know any better, she would think the little wine he’s had is getting to him.

Once she looks more attentively, however, she realizes that there is , in fact, a hint of color to the vampire’s face. Amused, she ponders the possibility that her friend might have never had alcohol before, or that the little he’s drunk has already been enough to inebriate him. She is certain her theory has been confirmed once she sees the way Alucard leers at Trevor over the rim of his cup. She turns her head to see an unmistakably flushed Belmont, returning his look with an intensity that borders on dangerous for that setting. He looks like he would throw himself over the table to get to the other man faster if there hadn’t been company.

“You are inebriated!” she lets out with a chuckle.

“Yeah, that was the point of ordering a third round, Sypha,” Trevor informs her, helpfully.

“I know, you numbskull. I mean Alucard is too.”

“Yeah, well,” Trevor retorts, with a lopsided grin, “I’m not sure whether it’s my drink or his , but it’s making him almost easy on the eyes.”

She playfully elbows him in the side.

“I’m sure I have to thank your drink for the flattery," the vampire replies in a sultry voice Sypha has seldom heard him use in public before. “I wonder what it would get me if I bought you another round.”

“Mh. Why don’t you try it and see what happens, pretty boy?”

Sypha could swear Trevor purposefully tilts his chin up just to expose his neck. The way Alucard’s eyes dart downwards, it’s easy to tell it worked. She lets out a sigh, feigning distress. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’d rather see the drunk version of you that just wants to fight.”

“Oh, but I do want to fight”, the hunter replies, taking another slow, deliberate sip of his beer, brushing candid froth off his upper lip with his thumb. “I want to fight that stupid, handsome face of his. With my face.”

“I like this version of drunk Trevor better," the vampire retorts, flashing a dangerously large smile, his fangs catching the light of the lamps.

Sypha has to admit she finds this kind of banter endearing, though it’s hardly the time or the place for it. Her eyes catch a movement at the edges of her vision and glance underneath the table: Alucard’s long, leather booth, seductively tracing its way up Trevor’s leg. And the hunter’s legs sprawl open wide for it. Sypha scoffs in disbelief. Trevor acting so obvious was nothing new to her, but she had yet to witness Alucard growing so brazen in public.

“Stop that," she chides, kicking Trevor in the shins. “If people see you’ll definitely get us in trouble. Tonight is a religious celebration, for God’s sake.”

“If it pleases me and displeases the Church at the same time, all the better," is Trevor’s unsurprising rebuke.

Alucard’s boot is now grazing the side of the hunter’s calf. To her immense dismay, Sypha realizes she only knows how to deal with drunk Trevor. She has no idea how to deal with drunk Alucard as well.

She senses someone at her side has caught wind of something and hurriedly pulls Trevor’s head down for a kiss. Loud cheers from the other occupants of the table ensue. She affects an air of embarrassment once she pulls away. At least the diversion seems to have worked.

“You two better keep it in your pants until we are alone, alright?" she urges, getting up from her seat. “Let’s go. I want to see how the celebrations are proceeding out there. And some fresh air might do you good. You two need to cool off.”

Trevor obeys meekly enough, guzzling down the rest of his beer before stumbling after Sypha, pulling Alucard along by the collar in a way that the Speaker knows better than to deem antagonizing. 

The fresh air seems to do the trick.

The town looks undeniably beautiful. The sky is clear, the moon and the stars shine bright as pearls scattered on a sea of blue velvet. Opulent garlands of aromatic herbs hang on almost every doorsill. Light pours in every street, in every alley from seemingly thousands of candles and lamps. It seems as if darkness has been chased away from the town. People flood the streets, unafraid to walk in the night, each holding a fire-bearing torch to honor the saint’s night. The air is crisp, though mellowed by the scent of beeswax, incense and mulled wine.

Sypha leads her companions around with awe-filled eyes. She hasn’t seen such lightheartedness in a long while. It’s hopeful, precious. The atmosphere is lively, brimming with so much joy and music it’s hard to remember it’s a religious festivity. 

Trevor, on the other hand, finds it hardly forgettable. He’s unimpressed - though not entirely unfazed by the beauty of the lights - by the parading of crucifixes and the hollering of drunk parishioners waving torches and rosaries everywhere. It’s hard to forget where they are, what kind of people they walk amongst with all those flames. Nevertheless, even that is not entirely unpleasant, with Sypha’s hands around his arm and the sweet sound of her laughter in his ears. 

Suddenly, more music erupts in the square. A group of pipers with crowns of evergreen shrubs guide the cheering crowd through street after street. They let themselves be pulled along by the dancing mass. At some point, someone crowns Sypha head with a ring of spruce and pine, Trevor ducks when someone attempts to do the same with him. Alucard bends his head to take in the scent forest on Sypha’s hair. She pulls Alucard along for a dance, their hair, twin flames in the torch-light. They look radiant, beautiful together. Trevor doesn’t join them, content with getting a jug of mulled wine from an old man’s cart as he watches them. Sypha’s cheeks are flushed from the cold, breath leaves her in fleeting puffs of vapor. She smiles and grins like a child. She’s happy. 

Alucard’s eyes find him across the crowd, blazing golden. The hunter in him shivers. He feels the pang of his hunger at the back of his head and he knows their christian-like behavior isn’t bound to last much longer. 

The crowd circles the whole square. The circular dance brings Alucard and Sypha back around. One more look at Alucard is all it takes for him to decide they have shown enough respect to the saint that night. As soon as the opportunity arises, he grabs the vampire by the wrist and the Speaker by the waist and pulls them both along, against the tide of crowd rushing to the sound of more musicians joining in from other directions. He drags them away, panting and laughing, deep into a dark, narrow alley, away from prying eyes.

Ripped away from the river of torches blazing in the streets, Sypha’s eyes are momentarily blinded by the absence of light. In the darkness Trevor’s arm is firm on her and so is his mouth when it hungrily seeks hers. His tongue is hot and ready, the taste of his mouth rich and zingy like mulled wine. She drinks him in with a stifled moan. The force of his kiss forces her head to tilt back. She feels the crown of shrubs beginning to slip from her head.

“Trevor, for God’s sake-!” Sypha reproaches him, sounding more amused than anything else, once Trevor breaks their heated kiss. He gives her a devilish grin and then grips the Vampire’s collar with both hands. Alucard’s chin tilts up, as if issuing a challenge. Trevor unceremoniously slams him against a wall, kissing him fiercely. Alucard lets him, as if he weren't able to lift the hunter off the ground and send him flying through the opposite building without much effort. Sypha can see his mischievous smirk playing on his lips as he’s kissed roughly, pale hands rising up to sink into dark locks. The cunning bastard has been waiting the whole evening just for that.

“They already have the torches out, remember?" she taunts, leaning against the wall as she watches them. “How long do you think it’ll be before they get the pitchforks too?”

“Hopefully, long enough," the vampire hisses, gripping Trevor’s shirt in turn, flipping their embrace around, pressing Trevor back to the wall, hard enough to push the air out of his lungs.

“I’d like to see them fucking try,” Trevor exhales, trying to catch his breath.

Alucard’s amber eyes flash freely now, uninhibited by nosy company. He is seldom so forceful, so forward. And Trevor doesn’t mind that at all. He too, is grinning right back at him, leering, expectantly wetting his bottom lip. The wine on Alucard’s lips. He wants to taste it again.

“You finally have me cornered in a dark alley, Alucard," Trevor murmurs, cocking his head to the side, provocatively. “You have your chance now. How is it gonna happen, I wonder? Vampirism or sodomy?”

Alucard chuckles in that airy, husky way that can only bode promisingly for that occasion, especially when his hands are clawing at the front of Trevor’s pants.

“What if I told you I have a way to do both?” 

“I’d say I’ll be the most willing victim you’ve ever seen," the hunter hisses, grabbing a fistful of blonde hair as soon as Alucard moves to get to his knees. “Just try not to bite my cock off.”

A smile is all Alucard offers in response. His fangs glimmer in the starlight.

“This is supposed to be a holy night,” she teases them. 

Trevor leans fully against the wall, raptly watching Alucard undo his belt. “And what better way than to worship than down on his knees,” he says, voice husky and charged with arousal. The exchange of looks between them is enough to make Sypha feel like she’s standing right next to a bonfire.

“You two are too blasphemous even for me”, Sypha giggles, breathily.

She’s undoubtedly the closest to sober between the three of them, but her lovers’ euphoria is contagious, especially when the two of them get like that with. Sure, they are both drunk and acting wild in a situation that could possibly turn nasty pretty fast if the wrong person sees them, but there is something absolutely exhilarating in that whole ordeal. Only Trevor Belmont could get hard out of spite for the Church and in spite of the threat of genital mutilation.

And he’s already gotten quite hard too, Sypha notices, once Alucard frees his erection from his pants. One scorching glance from those haunting amber eyes and his lips and tongue are on him. Trevor’s breath hitches as he is enveloped into the man’s mouth.

Sypha might not be physically equipped to ever experience the velvety, tight seal Alucard’s lips in that specific way, but in that dark alley she discovers she is fully emotionally equipped to sympathize with the hunter panting and groaning softly next to her. She moves to stand next to Trevor, one hand stroking his chest. He turns his head to her and she claims his lips again. She feels the vibration of his soft, pleasured groans against her lips. She takes his free hand in hers and accompanies it beneath her robes, to feel the heat that has started to pool between her legs. She sighs contently once she feels his digits rub her just the right way. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” Trevor lets her know, husking the words right into her ear. “And I thought I was the blasphemous one.”

She smiles at him. She feels wild, electric. “Takes a sinner to know one,” she tells him.

The noise of the town celebrating the Saint waxes and wanes, drawing closer and then further away. What they’re doing is dangerous. They could get caught at any moment.

Even so, neither of them is unable to keep their eyes off the man crouched between Trevor’s legs. Sypha can’t blame him. Alucard is mesmerizing, working his jaw diligently and carefully, ever so mindful of his fangs as he welcomes the hunter’s shaft in the hollow between them.

By the time Trevor’s hips start to buck impatiently, Sypha’s breath has grown heavier too. The hunter’s hand fists golden locks, harshly, as he thrusts steadily into his lover’s mouth, finding no resistance, just meek, almost worshipful compliance. Alucard is unfazed by the rough handling, his eyes closed, only a slight furrowing of his brow betrays the single-mindedness of his focus.

Finally, Trevor keens with a grunt, hips stuttering to a halt. Sypha holds him, heaving and twitching, feeling her knees threaten to give in as liquid heat erupted beneath her lover's fingers.

“ Fuck …”

Alucard looks up at him, eyes half-lidded and hazy, mouth hung open as he breathes, lips flushed and slightly swollen from the abuse. His usually impeccable hair is now tousled and disarrayed. He looks a hot disheveled mess, as Sypha had seldom seen him, a picture of lecherous decadence. In truth, it’s a good look on him. Though, in fairness, Alucard seems unable to look anything but ravishing in any occasion.

Trevor slips his hand from underneath Sypha's robes, brings them to the vampire's mouth. The Speaker feel herself shiver when Alucard accepts them, sucking them clean as he looks up at her with hungry eyes.

“Are you proud of yourself, vampire?” Trevor taunts, chuckling airily, pulling his fingers away. “You finally got to suck me dry.”

“This does feel like a good compromise for you, doesn’t it?” Alucard retorts, grinning. “Vampirism and sodomy all in one. Sounds like your thing, Belmont.”

The Speaker snorts, crouching next to Alucard to fix his hair and kiss him. She tastes herself and Trevor both on the tip of his tongue.

“You two are the scourge of the Church," she praises, sarcastically, as she gets back to her feet. “I’m glad you two got the blasphemy out of your system. Now let’s go back to the inn. I believe there’s some overpriced hay that’s overdue for a roll.”