Sorry I missed church. I was busy practicing witchcraft and becoming a homosexual
А это видео, благодаря которому появился фик.( никакого намека на яой) Ржачное, когда доходит смысл песни 
Get It Upwww.fanfiction.net/s/5687788/1/Get_It_UpGet It Up reviews
Alucard's fingertips were still holding the cigarette. Pip bit down stubbornly on the filter:: Whilst on the streets of Rio de Janeiro, Pip ends up kissing a bastard of a vampire who keeps stealing all of his cigarettes. AxP, canon.
The smoke from Pip's cigarette curled around his gloved fingers like a ribbon as he walked, twisting in the dark of the new moon night.
"So."
His lip twitched, and he glanced out of the corner of his eye at the shadowy shape that had materialized next to him, right out of the thick, sticky air. Tall and thin and lanky, and for once not topped off by the floppy red hat, Alucard had apparently had the urge to join him for a walk, and had left his coat home. Pip took another drag on the cigarette, exhaling a smoke stream in a slow, heavy sigh.
"What?"
Silence greeted him, but Pip could tell that Alucard was smiling; he didn't know how, he just did. Maybe it was the glint of razor-sharp teeth, despite the absence of light. Pip didn't know, nor did he care. He would've said something to break the horrid silence in the suffocating heat of South America, but he couldn't think of anything to say.
Out of habit, Pip shut his mind and opened his ears. It was slightly disturbing to only hear one set of footsteps--his own--when he knew there were two people walking there, but he managed to shrug it off, reminding himself again that this Dracula, this Alucard--and oh, how clever, Pip realized with a snort of derisive laughter, that his name should simply be dracula in reverse--could not be expected to act human.
"What's so funny, human?"
"Nothing," Pip chuckled, tossing his cigarette to the ground and grinding it out with the toe of his boot as he stepped on it. "Can't expect you to understand."
Pip could sense the smile once more, and Alucard laughed quietly. A hand, just a bit chilly, but not unpleasantly so, came to rest on the back of his neck, a thumb pressing gently into the ridge of bone behind his ear. Pip shivered. The hand dropped. He shivered again, and wondered just why he missed the weight of those fingers on his skin.
"Hey," a voice called, female and hoarse, like she'd been chain-smoking for twenty years straight. She continued, in Portuguese, and Pip caught sight of several scantily-clad prostitutes lounging on the stone steps of a large brick building, one of whom had sauntered down to the edge of the street, cocking a hip out as she spit the language at Pip and- no, not at Alucard, because as Pip looked over, he saw that Alucard was gone.
He passed the woman, muttering something half-heartedly out of the corner of his mouth; her lip curled and she turned back to the steps, complaining loudly to the rest of the girls. And, of course, as soon as Pip was out of the prostitutes' sight, Alucard was back, just a small whoosh of smoke and shadows and suddenly, strangely, there were two sets of footsteps. Pip wondered briefly what it felt like to pull yourself into existence, to just manifest from the very darkness around yourself.
"So."
"What?" Pip sighed, knowing he wasn't going to like what Alucard said, no matter what he said. So he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, thankful that Alucard was on his right side. He hated not being able to see the people he was talking to.
"Why'd you turn her down?" Alucard's voice was quiet, amused, but it couldn't have hit Pip harder. His fingers clenched tight around the pack of cigarettes and the cold metal lighter in his pockets, and a tiny, hard, half-smile came over his lips.
Oh well, Pip thought, and took out a semi-crushed cigarette. The flame of the lighter was overly bright in the darkness, in Alucard's shadow--Pip pondered asking Alucard how he had a shadow when it was three a.m. and the moon wasn't even out--that stretched across the pavement in front of them. Oh well.
"I have my reasons."
Alucard nodded patronizingly, and reached out to snag the cigarette from Pip's mouth. He took a long drag, blowing out a series of smoke rings, and then slipped it back between the mercenary's lips. Pip brought a hand up to steady it as he readjusted the thin stick. He had always wondered what Alucard tasted like, and was fascinated to find that it was like ice-cold water, the kind of drink where the taste is indescribable, even though you know it has one. When you know it has a taste, a really delicious one.
"I'm sure you do."
Another series of smoke rings drifted through the air in front of them, this time from Pip.
"I wonder why I feel the need to explain anything to you."
"Can't help you there," Alucard sighed.
"Hm," Pip mused. "Are you saying that you can help me in other ways?"
"Depends."
"On?"
Alucard shrugged, "A lot."
"Like what?" Pip pressed. Fuck it, he thought, realizing that he was digging his own grave there. I'm screwed either way. And the look on Alucard's face was worth it, too. One arched eyebrow, the sly smile again, and as his fingertips closed on the cigarette again, Pip stopped, reaching up and catching the Midian's wrist. He knew he wasn't in control; if he wanted to, Alucard could rip his jaw off, crush his fingers to a pulp, and Pip Bernadotte would be no more.
They stood, immobile, for several long, tense, seconds. Faced like dancers in a waltz, Pip's fingers were still locked around Alucard's wrist, and Alucard's fingertips were still holding the cigarette. Pip bit down stubbornly on the filter. Alucard raised an eyebrow again.
With that, one single, tiny motion, Pip felt the last vestiges of willpower he had disappear. With a quiet groan, he pulled Alucard's hand away from his mouth and stepped forwards. He was a bit mystified as to why his heart was beating so fast; he'd killed hundreds of men and yet never, not once, had his pulse pounded like this. Their lips met, feverish and fiery against calm and cool, and Pip was stuck between submitting to his insanity and doing the smart thing: Pulling away.
He didn't do the smart thing, but, then again, he never did the smart thing. Instead, he stepped forward again, pressing himself close and fisting his fingers in Alucard's hair and feeling long fingers come to rest on his hips, the vampire's grip tight through the dusty old coat. The midian was just like the taste that lingered on the cigarette before, only stronger now: Fresh and sharp and sweet and indescribable. Pip felt a tooth prick his lower lip, and as the blood welled up to meet the air, he felt Alucard pull back, lips hovering infinitesimally far away. Fingers held his chin in place when he went to lean in again, and Pip felt a tongue ghost across the wound, lapping up the blood.
Pip shivered, a quick tremor down his spine, and took a deep breath. He needed his bravado back, needed his flash and banter, needed, oh wait, there it was, for his mouth was opening and his lips were smirking and his fingers were wrapping around Alucard's wrist again. And was that really his voice saying that, really Pip, really, that's the best you can do right now?
"What's the matter?" he asked sarcastically, fingers wrapping and lips smirking and one eye half-closed. "Can't get it up?"
To his surprise, Alucard just laughed and leaned in and flicked his tongue over the wound again. Pip flinched involuntarity; it stung a bit, being deeper than he thought. The fingers fell from his chin, and Alucard stepped back, walking off and and shooting a look over his shoulder. It was an unspoken assumption that Pip would follow.
Amazing, he thought to himself, jogging a bit to catch up to Alucard. Pip Bernadotte, mercenary extraordinaire, is now completely whipped.
"You're bleeding, idiot," Alucard said finally. "And I sincerely doubt you're a virgin. I'd hate to see you end up as a zombie."
"How sweet," Pip snorted, joking but not joking because they never would be sweet. They, if there was going to be a 'they,' would always be fierce kisses in Rio de Janiero streets on new moon nights, where Pip would bleed and Alucard would do something strange and they'd crack a joke because neither of them really knew what to do.
"Your brains would leave a stubborn stain on the carpet, I think."
"Of course." Pip lit up another cigarette, holding it out of Alucard's reach. "It would be my stain, would it not?"
Alucard put a hand on his neck again, and pulled him in for another kiss, shorter and softer, and Pip felt the cigarette disappear from between his fingers.
"Of course it would," Alucard breathed, tongue lapping up a fresh drop of blood, and Pip had to stop himself from moaning. "Of course it would."
He smiled and took a drag on the cigarette, blowing smoke rings into the pitch black night, and Pip thought how ridiculous this all was: He was kissing a bastardly vampire who kept stealing his cigarettes in the middle of a street in Rio de Janiero. And then he remembered that he didn't care, and stole his cigarette back from Alucard.
Get It Upwww.fanfiction.net/s/5687788/1/Get_It_UpGet It Up reviews
Alucard's fingertips were still holding the cigarette. Pip bit down stubbornly on the filter:: Whilst on the streets of Rio de Janeiro, Pip ends up kissing a bastard of a vampire who keeps stealing all of his cigarettes. AxP, canon.
The smoke from Pip's cigarette curled around his gloved fingers like a ribbon as he walked, twisting in the dark of the new moon night.
"So."
His lip twitched, and he glanced out of the corner of his eye at the shadowy shape that had materialized next to him, right out of the thick, sticky air. Tall and thin and lanky, and for once not topped off by the floppy red hat, Alucard had apparently had the urge to join him for a walk, and had left his coat home. Pip took another drag on the cigarette, exhaling a smoke stream in a slow, heavy sigh.
"What?"
Silence greeted him, but Pip could tell that Alucard was smiling; he didn't know how, he just did. Maybe it was the glint of razor-sharp teeth, despite the absence of light. Pip didn't know, nor did he care. He would've said something to break the horrid silence in the suffocating heat of South America, but he couldn't think of anything to say.
Out of habit, Pip shut his mind and opened his ears. It was slightly disturbing to only hear one set of footsteps--his own--when he knew there were two people walking there, but he managed to shrug it off, reminding himself again that this Dracula, this Alucard--and oh, how clever, Pip realized with a snort of derisive laughter, that his name should simply be dracula in reverse--could not be expected to act human.
"What's so funny, human?"
"Nothing," Pip chuckled, tossing his cigarette to the ground and grinding it out with the toe of his boot as he stepped on it. "Can't expect you to understand."
Pip could sense the smile once more, and Alucard laughed quietly. A hand, just a bit chilly, but not unpleasantly so, came to rest on the back of his neck, a thumb pressing gently into the ridge of bone behind his ear. Pip shivered. The hand dropped. He shivered again, and wondered just why he missed the weight of those fingers on his skin.
"Hey," a voice called, female and hoarse, like she'd been chain-smoking for twenty years straight. She continued, in Portuguese, and Pip caught sight of several scantily-clad prostitutes lounging on the stone steps of a large brick building, one of whom had sauntered down to the edge of the street, cocking a hip out as she spit the language at Pip and- no, not at Alucard, because as Pip looked over, he saw that Alucard was gone.
He passed the woman, muttering something half-heartedly out of the corner of his mouth; her lip curled and she turned back to the steps, complaining loudly to the rest of the girls. And, of course, as soon as Pip was out of the prostitutes' sight, Alucard was back, just a small whoosh of smoke and shadows and suddenly, strangely, there were two sets of footsteps. Pip wondered briefly what it felt like to pull yourself into existence, to just manifest from the very darkness around yourself.
"So."
"What?" Pip sighed, knowing he wasn't going to like what Alucard said, no matter what he said. So he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, thankful that Alucard was on his right side. He hated not being able to see the people he was talking to.
"Why'd you turn her down?" Alucard's voice was quiet, amused, but it couldn't have hit Pip harder. His fingers clenched tight around the pack of cigarettes and the cold metal lighter in his pockets, and a tiny, hard, half-smile came over his lips.
Oh well, Pip thought, and took out a semi-crushed cigarette. The flame of the lighter was overly bright in the darkness, in Alucard's shadow--Pip pondered asking Alucard how he had a shadow when it was three a.m. and the moon wasn't even out--that stretched across the pavement in front of them. Oh well.
"I have my reasons."
Alucard nodded patronizingly, and reached out to snag the cigarette from Pip's mouth. He took a long drag, blowing out a series of smoke rings, and then slipped it back between the mercenary's lips. Pip brought a hand up to steady it as he readjusted the thin stick. He had always wondered what Alucard tasted like, and was fascinated to find that it was like ice-cold water, the kind of drink where the taste is indescribable, even though you know it has one. When you know it has a taste, a really delicious one.
"I'm sure you do."
Another series of smoke rings drifted through the air in front of them, this time from Pip.
"I wonder why I feel the need to explain anything to you."
"Can't help you there," Alucard sighed.
"Hm," Pip mused. "Are you saying that you can help me in other ways?"
"Depends."
"On?"
Alucard shrugged, "A lot."
"Like what?" Pip pressed. Fuck it, he thought, realizing that he was digging his own grave there. I'm screwed either way. And the look on Alucard's face was worth it, too. One arched eyebrow, the sly smile again, and as his fingertips closed on the cigarette again, Pip stopped, reaching up and catching the Midian's wrist. He knew he wasn't in control; if he wanted to, Alucard could rip his jaw off, crush his fingers to a pulp, and Pip Bernadotte would be no more.
They stood, immobile, for several long, tense, seconds. Faced like dancers in a waltz, Pip's fingers were still locked around Alucard's wrist, and Alucard's fingertips were still holding the cigarette. Pip bit down stubbornly on the filter. Alucard raised an eyebrow again.
With that, one single, tiny motion, Pip felt the last vestiges of willpower he had disappear. With a quiet groan, he pulled Alucard's hand away from his mouth and stepped forwards. He was a bit mystified as to why his heart was beating so fast; he'd killed hundreds of men and yet never, not once, had his pulse pounded like this. Their lips met, feverish and fiery against calm and cool, and Pip was stuck between submitting to his insanity and doing the smart thing: Pulling away.
He didn't do the smart thing, but, then again, he never did the smart thing. Instead, he stepped forward again, pressing himself close and fisting his fingers in Alucard's hair and feeling long fingers come to rest on his hips, the vampire's grip tight through the dusty old coat. The midian was just like the taste that lingered on the cigarette before, only stronger now: Fresh and sharp and sweet and indescribable. Pip felt a tooth prick his lower lip, and as the blood welled up to meet the air, he felt Alucard pull back, lips hovering infinitesimally far away. Fingers held his chin in place when he went to lean in again, and Pip felt a tongue ghost across the wound, lapping up the blood.
Pip shivered, a quick tremor down his spine, and took a deep breath. He needed his bravado back, needed his flash and banter, needed, oh wait, there it was, for his mouth was opening and his lips were smirking and his fingers were wrapping around Alucard's wrist again. And was that really his voice saying that, really Pip, really, that's the best you can do right now?
"What's the matter?" he asked sarcastically, fingers wrapping and lips smirking and one eye half-closed. "Can't get it up?"
To his surprise, Alucard just laughed and leaned in and flicked his tongue over the wound again. Pip flinched involuntarity; it stung a bit, being deeper than he thought. The fingers fell from his chin, and Alucard stepped back, walking off and and shooting a look over his shoulder. It was an unspoken assumption that Pip would follow.
Amazing, he thought to himself, jogging a bit to catch up to Alucard. Pip Bernadotte, mercenary extraordinaire, is now completely whipped.
"You're bleeding, idiot," Alucard said finally. "And I sincerely doubt you're a virgin. I'd hate to see you end up as a zombie."
"How sweet," Pip snorted, joking but not joking because they never would be sweet. They, if there was going to be a 'they,' would always be fierce kisses in Rio de Janiero streets on new moon nights, where Pip would bleed and Alucard would do something strange and they'd crack a joke because neither of them really knew what to do.
"Your brains would leave a stubborn stain on the carpet, I think."
"Of course." Pip lit up another cigarette, holding it out of Alucard's reach. "It would be my stain, would it not?"
Alucard put a hand on his neck again, and pulled him in for another kiss, shorter and softer, and Pip felt the cigarette disappear from between his fingers.
"Of course it would," Alucard breathed, tongue lapping up a fresh drop of blood, and Pip had to stop himself from moaning. "Of course it would."
He smiled and took a drag on the cigarette, blowing smoke rings into the pitch black night, and Pip thought how ridiculous this all was: He was kissing a bastardly vampire who kept stealing his cigarettes in the middle of a street in Rio de Janiero. And then he remembered that he didn't care, and stole his cigarette back from Alucard.
@темы: Hellsing, Video, yaoi, Fanfiction