rareslash | Found it in the depths of my journal...

This was meant to be a history. But wasn't.

Fandom: Van Helsing (Dracula/Frankenstein)

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue. I don't even like them.

Summary: PWP. Not even that P, really, more's the shame.

The air seemed colder every time the Count was on the room. Dr. Frankenstein tried not to think about that; after all, it was only his own perception. And a little trick of his subconscience, of course, knowing that he'd committed his life's work to a monster, knowing that he hadn't hesitated, despite of that, despite of everything, should gave him a few odd feelings.

The hand on his shoulder sent a shiver through his back. He pretended not to notice, as well, the fingers that were moving with purpose over the tightly closed collar of his shirt.

"You seem very tired, Victor. Perhaps you should rest a few moments."

"I can't now." He answered, shaking his head stubbornly. He knew only too well where the offer of 'rest' would lead. It wasn't enough that the Count was currently (and perhaps, he was beginning to fear, permanently) in possession of his discoverings; no, the unblessed creature had to be in possession of his body as well.

To feed. And...other things. He welcomed the pain far more than he welcomed the mocking attentions that the Count seemed to find appropriate to spill over him. He turned around, unblinking to the piercing eyes that were staring at him. He'd had time enough to know that such a look didn't mean anything. When he was in real danger, he was sure the Count would made him know it in more than a vaguely menacing fashion.

He covered the Count's hand with his own, and finished the buttons himself. Then he thrown his head back, exposing his neck.

"Get over soon, please," he said. He really had work in progress.

The cold hands closed over his throat, strangely lightly.

N/A: I'll be back with a real plot, I swear! This sucks so much!