reposing | a world without logos

a world without logos | stoneup

The conclusion of the mission in the heart of Paris had finished by Alucard's lone hand -- technically, in any case. The building in which Millennium was inhabiting and running tests, evidently, had already seen its blood bath from someone else: one of their own, more or less. Alucard returned to the Hellsing manor with the blonde-haired vampire, covered in dried blood and wearing clothes that don't fit him, scrubs and a lab coat -- and a giant scar on his chest that he could not hide.

The vampire's name is Adrian. Beyond being a pet project, he doesn't remember anything else outside of a life of Millennium. It begins there, and ended with circumstances Alucard only described in a laugh and a Don't interrupt his reading time.

The elusive new vampire is not seen for another day. Then, as if he has always belonged in Hellsing manor, he walks the halls with a regal elegance, fully dressed this time and certainly much more put together. There is almost always a suspicious look in his golden gaze, skeptical as he looks at most people, but significantly less lost than when he'd first arrived.

Reluctantly, he does approach one Trevor Belmont, a book under one arm.

"Alucard has instructed me that I should be introducing myself to the rest of the organization," Adrian says, sounding bland and distant.

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Even just that light brush against him is enough to confirm to Trevor that the reckless action of following one of Hellsing's damned vampires downstairs is actually not a bad idea.

He shouldn't be surprised that Adrian's room is sparse, without windows -- or even that it has a coffin in it, honestly -- but he is, for some odd reason. The desk is, at least, close enough that he can easily deposit the bottle of wine and the two glasses down on the top of it, letting his gaze flick to Adrian's face curiously.

He's interested to see how he'll act now that he's on his 'home turf', so to speak, so he gives him a little space before he offers, "Should I get you a glass?"

Finally setting his now crooked book onto the desk, he glances over to Trevor and gives him a considerate look. The man isn't unattractive, and he knows he's already decided that; he's scruffy, bit of a ruffian, but he isn't unpleasant either.

"Yes, please," Adrian requests, shrugging off his coat to drape over a chair. "I'd apologize for not having much in my room, but I presume you understand my circumstances enough."

Trevor just shrugs his shoulders. He lives a mercenary's life, which means that most of the things that he owns he can pack up within a matter of minutes and crate off to whatever part of the world he's being sent to next.

He gives the book a pointed look, but fixes a glass of wine for Adrian without further comment. He stands to pass the glass to the vampire, taking the opportunity to again brush his hand against Adrian's. Again, it's soft -- careful, even. If Millennium had punished him for doing anything wrong, it was entirely possible that any sort of touch made him skittish. Maybe that's what all the flinching had been about, earlier.

There's a brief pause at the contact. This time, he doesn't jerk, but he does look at the hand warily before he takes the glass. Unfortunately, he reacts much the same toward others, halfway expecting to be tricked or harmed for doing something untoward. But he tries to remind himself that he isn't there anymore.

And in his way, Trevor is charming.

"Thank you," he murmurs, appreciating the wine and its taste much better than the beer Trevor had been drinking. Slowly, he settles more, then hesitantly touches the ends of Trevor's fingers.

"Sit with me?"

It's odd to be so careful with someone that he knows could so easily tear someone limb from limb (all right, he did read the dossier on Adrian), but ... he seemed sheltered, in some ways.

For now he allows Adrian to set the pace of things, turning his hand palm-up when the vampire touches his fingers and makes that request of him.

"Lead the way." There's only so many places that they might sit, but the point here is to let Adrian be the one to make the decisions on things for a bit -- to be patient, even if just the light contact with the vampire's hand sends pleasant sparks through his body. Being a mercenary is, when it comes down to it, largely solitary work. Moving about didn't exactly lend itself to a steady partnership.

As uneasy as Adrian feels, he does recognize Trevor's patience, that he waits for him to reach out and lead. With a bit more confidence, he slips his hand into the mercenary's, pulling him toward the two chairs he has in the room.

"Why did you decide to come down with me?" he asks, though he's certain he knows the answer anyway.

Once Adrian takes his hand, he lets himself be guided toward the chair and seats himself easily -- although he doesn't drop the fingers slipped in his.

He lets out a soft chuckle, dropping his gaze down for a moment. "Honestly? Because there's..." And he trails off, bringing his other hand briefly to the back of his neck, "...something interesting about you." His pretty face might've been the thing to make him stop and actually listen to the vampire, but it had been the places their brief conversation had touched on that made him willing to want to know more, to not just try and push things into what might've been an easy casual fuck.

"You don't know anything about your time before Millennium, but you speak Romanian like a local. The familiarity was ... nice."

Their hands remain loosely held and it feels... nice. Warm, comforting. He has a better idea of the details of the tips of Trevor's rough calluses. Years of use, years of fighting, but the warmth underneath. A curious thing indeed.

And he listens, watching Trevor curiously. As he speaks, Adrian drinks more wine, but stops at the mention of Romanian. That had been a startling revelation, even to himself.

"I worry that I was made by them," Adrian confesses softly. "But then there are details like that. Details I shouldn't know, but I do. And other things..."

He trails off, then finally slips his hand free. After finishing his wine glass, he makes a decision. Wise or unwise, it seems irrelevant. Perhaps the alcohol, or maybe the decision to share himself with someone that wouldn't be miserable.

"Let me show you something, Belmont."

Adrian stands after setting the glass down. With his coat off, it makes it all the easier to peel off his shirt. It might seems like a sexual invitation, but the truth of it is that he wants to show the scar on his chest.

"This has been here for as long as I can remember."

His eyes track Adrian carefully as he stands, as he peels off his shirt. Indeed, he'd probably have spent more time admiring the lithe, well-muscled form if it wasn't for the glaringly obvious scar in the middle of his chest, the words that come from the vampire's lips.

"They didn't make you."

He knows this story. He'd never thought he'd be in the same room as anyone involved in it, though -- and it's that idea that fuels him to pick up the already-opened wine and take a long swig from the bottle. Uncouth, maybe, but he needs something to quench the sudden dry mouth that he has.

It gives him just enough impulsive stupidity to join Adrian in standing, to walk over to him and lay his hand flat against the scar, oddly reverent.

"Do you want me to tell you how you got it? This scar." He brings his other hand up, brushes it over the sharp angle of Adrian's cheek and down his jaw.

It sounds so oddly confident from Trevor. How would he know that they didn't just make him? Adrian looks at him, his brows knitted in confusion.

And he holds his breath, perhaps unnecessarily, when he feels Trevor's hand on his chest, but his words catch Adrian's attention more than anything. He can't even be concerned about (a) how close they are and (b) how much Trevor is touching him.

"Do you know?" he asks, almost pleading. "Tell me, please."

It's confident because he's confident, now. Things fall too perfectly into place for it to be anything but exactly what he's thinking of.

"Your father." He's still touching the scar, the contour of it across Adrian's chest. "You tried to stop him from doing something monumentally idiotic, and he nearly killed you. Or that's what you told Leon, at any rate." He's not accusing Adrian of lying, but hiding the whole truth from someone wouldn't be unheard of.

He mentions Leon's name only because he wants to see whether it jogs -- anything in Adrian's mind, his gaze scanning that pretty face of his.

"Leon--"

There is a flash of something, familiarity. He remembers, a friend, friend to his father, Leon Belmont. The face is there, some of the resemblance in Trevor's eyes mainly. Oh, but Leon never looked as worn as Trevor is, always noble and determined.

Then find the ones who did the deed, Adrian told his father. I won't let you kill any innocents.

He was human once. They both were. But everything changed that night.

A different memory. The Major chuckling in his terribly sincere way, He has my eyes, Doctor. Isn't that wonderful?

When tears roll down Adrian's face, they are not clear. They're two lines of blood, sliding down his cheeks.

"Yes," is all he can whisper, because it is true, and he feels too much right now.

Ah, there it is. That terrible familiarity -- and Trevor wonders if he shouldn't have just kept all of this to himself, spared Adrian the grief of remembering exactly what had happened to make him become the creature that was sitting in front of him right now -- but wouldn't it have been worse, thinking Millennium had been the ones to just pluck him out of thin air?

He lifts his hands, brushes the tears off Adrian's face as best he can despite the mess with each of his thumbs. They're his fault in some ways, after all.

And what does he do, now that he's ruined this poor vampire's night? He doesn't know, honestly, so he keeps his warm hands on Adrian's cheeks.

Slowly, he closes his eyes and places his hands over Trevor's. There are some parts fragmented in his mind, buried under years of trauma -- but there is a comfort to knowing that he wasn't just made by Millennium, an idea that he'd been afraid of for sometime.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "I can't remember all of it, but. It is true, what you say.Suntem doar sclavi pentru dorințele familiei noastre."

"Mm. Și noi vom purta întotdeauna cicatricile lor, fizice sau altfel."

Adrian is thanking him, at least, not lashing out at him or going mad like some deep, primal part of him had been concerned about if he let himself admit it. He draws in a deep breath of air, lets it out in a puff of breath.

"Do you want to be alone?" Because he thinks it's likely he'll either strongly want to be, or won't -- no middle ground. The hands covering his hint at the answer, but he still needs that explicit permission.

There's a faint, rueful smile at the response. For all that Trevor does appear uncouth, he isn't so terrible at all. Though he can think of Leon in a sad fondness, it doesn't change that he's already come to like this Belmont too.

"No," Adrian answers softly. "Will you stay with me?"

He's even less terrible for being socialized, even if it had been by a bunch of ruffians like the mercenary group. Trevor slides his hands from under Adrian's and lets one rest against the back of the vampire's neck, the other coming to run down the length of Adrian's arm.

"I'll stay," he agrees easily, privately relieved that he doesn't have to leave just yet. Willing or not, bringing up Leon has let his mind wander to the rest of his family, and that never brings sleep -- he'll be up most of the night, anyway.

That, too, is a deep relief for him that Trevor will stay. He could easily drag Trevor around, but he doesn't; instead, he nudges the man until they're both sitting on the lid of his coffin, and he sits more comfortably next to him, their hips touching. His warmth no longer alarming, his touch no longer concerning him.

"Quite the coincidence, Leon's descendant working with Hellsing. Did you believe the stories about vampires before or after you came here?"

He bites back the urge to say that Belmonts don't believe in coincidence, because he's the only one left, now, and maybe he does. It's easier than thinking of the other implications, of the death of his family not being senseless but something that for some reason needed to happen.

Trevor allows himself to be led, the sudden relaxation not unwelcome. He leans their shoulders together carefully, the warmth of the large swallow of wine from earlier still flushing his cheeks.

"Before. Kept my mouth shut about it, mostly, and took care of what I could privately." The rest of the Geese -- he'd wanted to protect them as long as he could.

He couldn't protect them from it any more, but -- well. He'd tried.

"Smart man."

Adrian decides to hold onto one of Trevor's hands. He likes his warmth, his presence. Though not everything is clear in his mind yet, he remembers parts. Leon's nobility and kindness, how he'd been friends of their family for so long, the regret they both had when they had to confront Father. And Trevor may be rougher around the edges, but that doesn't make him any less pleasant.

"I hope you don't mind my saying that I am glad you're here," Adrian says. "What an interesting evening we've found ourselves in, hm?"

He lets out an abrupt bark of laughter. Trevor -- can't remember the last time anyone called him smart, honestly, and he's about to comment on it when Adrian continues to speak and he suddenly feels the flush that had crept over his cheeks chasing down his neck.

Damn it, hadn't he been the one flustering the vampire a handful of minutes before? He squeezes Adrian's fingers carefully, glancing to the side. He's ... embarrassed?

"Better interesting than boring, but not exactly the way I thought things would end up tonight," he admits, shaking his head and looking back to the vampire's face.

"No, I suppose not." Adrian looks up at him. "It wasn't exactly my intention, either."

He knew what he was expecting when he invited Trevor down with him, and he suspects the mercenary had much of those same intentions. Absently, he rubs away the remains of the drying blood on his face.

"Sort of kills the mood a bit, doesn't it."

"A bit," he admits, although the sudden hammering in his chest argues with him on that point. When things are quick and emotionless, the thing he'd been expecting from a vampire he assumed was starved for intimacy, things are -- easy, familiar.

This? He's not so good at. His gaze softens when Adrian looks at him, though, and he brings the vampire's hand to his lips to brush a kiss over his knuckles. "But it's fine."

And it is, honestly. That's the odd part -- finding a strange connection in the Hellsing organization isn't something he expected either, but he finds himself wanting it.

The reassurance seems to be enough. Adrian smiles faintly, reaching up with his free hand to touch the side of Trevor's face, touching the roughness of his scruff and tracing his jawline.

"How patient of you," he says, sounding fond.

Leaning in, Adrian presses a soft kiss to Trevor's cheekbone. Then another to his jaw. An invitation, if he still wants it.

Another trait that nobody in their right mind would associate with him -- patience.

Still, he appreciates the thought, and the fact that he's touching him again. He wouldn't have pressed on further, given the amount of shock he was sure that Adrian was in now, but ... With the kisses as clear indications, Trevor turns his torso toward the vampire, brings his own hand up into Adrian's hair to guide him into a proper kiss. His lips are eager, if a bit clumsy, a warm contrast against the vampire's mouth.

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