Blame the Sex BeamBlame the Sex Beam
R for profanity, sex (manual and oral), alcohol
community.livejournal.com/hellsing/483115.html
If you’re going to keep badgering me about it, I’ll tell. But not one word to the other geese! Or...and that’s no idle threat.
Once. That night we were in Rio de Janeiro.
But it wasn’t my choice at all! See, Alucard’s got these freakish mind-control powers. I’ve heard about it; he’ll be fighting and get bored or whatever, and the guy’s he’s been fighting with line up and let him put his gun in their mouths...
Hhm? What’s so funny?
... no, that’s NOT how it happened! ... you finished? ... Okay.
We were just checking into Rio Hotel. Mr. Alucard was trying to get the concierge to let us take the coffins to the top floor. Funny about this concierge, from a distance he looked like a guy, no question, but the closer you got the more girly he looked. At least, I think it was a guy. No tits. Anyway.
I’ve got my hands full with the porters, ‘cause the idiots thought it’d be a good idea to take both coffins in through the elevator door at once. I’m watching them bump into each other and cuss, when I feel this kind of tingle on my back.
... no, not animal magnetism, smartass. It was the sex beam! ...no, listen.
I steal a look at the concierge, and he’s got this LOOK. Like’s he’s utterly transported by what he’s seeing. Like he’s watching porn for the first time. And there’s Alucard, posing like he thinks he’s David Copperfield or some shit. You know, the magician. He reaches out his hand and kinda... caresses the kid’s face.
When Alucard’s finger touches his lips, the kid starts sweating buckets. Not that we all weren’t sweating like pig-dogs the whole day – even with it being winter down there, the place was a sauna, and all of use in starched-up shirts and suits were sweltering. Except Alucard, the cold-blooded bastard.
So Alucard’s petting the kid all kinky-weird, and the kid’s just eating it up. His mouth is hanging open, and I’m thinking “If that she-male starts sucking on Alucard’s fingers, so help me, I’m going straight to that top-floor suite and jumping off the balcony.” But no such thing.
Alucard takes his hand away, all slow, and the kid says “No problem. None at all.” There he is, grinning vacantly and looking cool as a fucking Speedstick Salesperson.
Alucard says something to me and I make this big show of turning around, like I didn’t just see the whole business. Funny thing was, I’d started sweating as hard as the kid. Must’ve gotten hit by stray sex-beam radiation. Or maybe I was already wondering if Policegirl’s got the sex-beam powers too. God knows I’ve thought about that a million times since.
Things are normal when we get to the suite. Alucard’s going on about coffins and death and shit – no, really, that’s as normal as this bloke gets. I’m starting to think I imagined the whole scene downstairs, when I tell him – here, what I said exactly was “I’ll come get you in the evening.” And he says “Oh, I can hardly wait.”
Plain enough, right? Could mean anything, right? But if you’d seen the look he gave me when he said it – I should have known right then.
Then he says “Looks like it’ll be FUN, this place”, with that leer of his aimed right at me, and I decide I’ve had enough creepiness for one day and get the hell out.
By now it’s getting towards evening, so I go down to the hotel bar and knock back a few drinks. Good stuff, too, ‘cause Her Majesty was picking up the bill. We weren’t expecting any surprises, and since we thought the trip would weaken Miss Victoria we were given the first night and day to recuperate. I intended to spend it boozing.
There was a classy-looking brunette at the end of the bar, so I introduce myself and ask to buy her a drink. She accepts, and we get along great til she’s finished her fourth drink on my tab, excuses herself for the restroom, and never comes back. Probably gave herself the runs from too much rum. Lush.
I wasn’t feeling too up to socializing at this point, with trip fatigue and jet lag and all, so I decide to go back to the room and see if Her Majesty’ll pay for Pay-Per-View.
I’m surprised to see Alucard up and about. He’s dressed in his usual clothes again, heavy coat and all, and staring out the window.
Something’s up. He’s tense as a guitar string, and there’s an eager look in his eyes.
As I come in the room he gives me a glance of acknowledgement and goes pacing a track across the carpet that he’s obviously covered dozens of times already. Here’s energy looking for an outlet.
One of my men gets that look, I slip him K-Y and vacate the premises. But I don’t know what’s making Alucard so anxious at this point, so I put it out of mind and gesture at the police girl’s coffin. He gives a half-nod to say “Yep, still in there,” so I wish him good night and go to my room. Holy mother of God, borgeois as the rest of the place!
A quick survey shows everything to satisfaction. Nice big tv, at a good angle to the bed – or failing that, deep cushy carpet.
But first things first. I lock the door.
I shrug off my jacket and crawl out of the god-awful scotchguard-stiff pants. Then it’s a quick trip to the bathroom for... er, supplies.
When I come back Alucard’s in my room.
He didn’t unlock the door – no need. First time I ever saw him he walked through a wall, so I’m not surprised. No more surprised than anyone would be to find themself sharing a room with a business accquaintance right before one of their most private moments. And me in shirt and boxers, toilet paper in the one hand and lube in the other, looking like the world’s biggest chatch.
In true chatch form I say “Oh, excuse me,” somehow still thinking maybe he just over-paced one of his circuits and ended up in my room by accident, and he’s about to leave.
Only he doesn’t leave.
He walks over all smooth-like and takes off my eye patch. Weird thing to do, eh? I’ve thought about it some, and here’s what I’ve come up with. Alucard’s a guy who gets off on violence. And he also gets off on the fact that he’s so powerful, violence doesn’t affect him. Someone pops out his eye, he leaves it hanging out for five minutes, just for shits and giggles, then grows himself a new one. I guess he got a kick out of seeing what violence does to a normal bloke.
He reaches over, takes the toilet paper out of my right hand, and drops it. Out of the corner of my eye I see it go unrolling under the bed. He takes the bottle and drops that too, and I don’t even hear it fall into the carpet. He undoes the top button of my shirt and lays his mouth between my collarbones.
Right now is when I should’ve shouted “Get your filthy mouth off me, I like pussy!” But he’s hypnotized me with that sex-beam! I stood there the whole time going “No problem. None at all”, while he unbuttons my shirt and kisses his way down my chest. He puts the last kiss just below my navel and goes for my neck.
... No, he didn’t bite me. I’m here talking to you now, aren’t I?
Here’s where I almost come to my senses, ‘cause it’s a bad idea to let a vampire nibble on your neck, no matter if it’s some bloke or a curvy nubile girl.
That gets me thinking about curvy nubile girls, in particular one curvy nubile vampire girl asleep in the next room, and I swear, from then on it was like she was the one doing it to me. Her hands on my hips, her tongue on my nipples, her mouth on my cock. Right up until the sweet finish.
How was it? It was another GUY, for chrissake, what do you think?
... okay, taking into account the sex-beam and the police-girl fantasy... best head I’ve ever got. I guess you pick up a few tricks when you’ve lived one hundred plus years... or maybe he was using mind-reading powers. Wish he’d give lessons to some of the girl’s I’ve known.
So I’m feeling good at this point, not suspecting what’ll come next. I figure I’ve just been reaping good karma from spending so much on that lush by the bar. But then he starts to unbutton.
Now, I’m about to tell him I’d rather die than do it to another guy, when I see that his lip’s kinda curled up and his special-issue equipment up THERE is ready for action too, if you follow me – so it looks like that’s the choice I’m being given.
It was easier than I’d thought. Not that I’d ever thought about it, mind you, but I’m just a quick-to-learn kind of guy.
... What, you want to know about his endowments? Believe what you will, I’ve black out the whole traumatic experience.
I’m thinking I’m going to get through this with some shred of dignity intact, when his hand whips around, latches onto the back of my head, and pulls forward. Any other guy in existance tries this on me, I tear his arm off at the shoulder, y’know? But I try that with Alucard, his arm turns into a flock of bats and goes flying up my ass or some freaky shit like that. So I make like I’m beer-bonging homemade palm wine back in Uganda.
I’m gagging and trying not to spit on the carpet – ‘cause I knew I’d be the one who whould have to explain – and he just leaves. No “Sorry for getting homo-freaky on you”, no “Thanks for the great hand job,” no nothing. And he’s STILL got that tense look about him.
I’m up and backing away – and I do mean BACKING, in case he decides we’re not finished – but it looks like we are, ‘cause he disappears through the wall. Probably went back to staring out the window.
It seems like a good idea to go to bed, but I realize that while I’m still pretty drunk, I’m not NEAR drunk enough for what just happened. I check out the fridge, and behold! Kirin! Dunno what Japanese beer is doing in a Brazilian fridge – thank god for third-world economies, right? I go to see about that Pay-Per-View, but decide I’m not in the mood anymore. And on TV, nothing but soap operas in Portugese.
I’m flipping channels – ‘cause those Brazilian girls are hot, even if they’re overacting in Portugese – when this special news report comes on.
“Looks familiar, that building” I’m thinking. It’s the Rio Hotel. Fucking helicopter right outside our suite. So that’s what’s been eating Alucard all night!
Look, when the Geese get back from a special assignment, and their hepatitis tests start coming back positive, and they’re pretending like they’re not itching their crotches, I don’t ask where they picked it up. What happens in Rio, stays in Rio.
And I still blame the sex-beam.