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He was surely going to hell.
Carl glanced over at Van Helsing, who was stripped to the waist, taking an ice-cold sponge bath in a frigid stream. His back toward Carl, his smooth skin rippled across his shoulder muscles as he moved. He reminded Carl of Michelangelo's sculpture, but cold, hard marble, for all its eternal perfection, could not capture the beauty of a living man. And this man was alive, still alive, despite all the odds against it.
He stopped his campfire chores and allowed himself to stare for a moment, indulging his eyes even as his brain tried to convince his nether regions to calm themselves. Had it always been like this?
Well, yes, come to think of it, it had.
He remembered the first time he had seen Van Helsing in the laboratory some years ago -- he had been so taken by the man's physical presence that he could only blink like an idiot when he was introduced. He had known the abbot was speaking, but he could not hear his words for the ringing in his ears. Carl had finally managed to mumble something about the weapon design he was working on before the abbot and Van Helsing moved on, the abbot casting a curious glance over his shoulder.
Over time, he had grown accustomed enough to Van Helsing to hold a cogent conversation with him (about his engineering projects, of course) and during their voyage to Transylvania, Carl's constant twitchiness in Van Helsing's presence had finally eased. From the moment they had arrived, events had been too frantic to even consider anything but the task before them. Well, there had been that night with the lass (who had, fortunately, accepted his ludicrous "I'm a friar, not a monk" explanation without pause) but God help him if he hadn't had to bite back Van Helsing's name at a critical juncture during that encounter.
After that night, events had outpaced them, and they were, Carl knew, lucky to have escaped with their lives. Anna had not been so fortunate, and Carl knew Van Helsing grieved her death and what he viewed as his own culpability for it. Thus far on the journey home he had been quiet, even more so than usual. And really, it was quite improper to have such inappropriate, lustful thoughts about a man suffering so....
"Carl!"
He jumped, his face flushing red, and he tried not to squeak as he spoke. "Yes?"
"Listen!"
Carl stood still, taking stock of the small grove where they had made camp late in the afternoon. He heard their horses nearby, the trickle of water through the stream -- and movement in the nearby bushes.
Van Helsing was already shrugging into his shirt, reaching for his weapons. Carl's crossbow was propped against a tree, and he was lifting a hand to reach it as an arrow whipped by him and hit the tree, only inches from his head. He grabbed the bow and ducked low toward the ground as another arrow flew by.
"Carl! Here!" Van Helsing called. Carl saw him behind a tree stump near the stream, and cautiously crept over to join him, keeping as close to the ground as he could.
"Supernatural?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
Van Helsing shook his head even as something caught his eye. "I don't think so." He aimed the fast-action crossbow, taking sight and firing a number of bolts in rapid succession. They heard a shout, and then silence. Van Helsing crept out from behind the stump, and Carl followed, keeping his own bow at the ready as they slowly made their way through the dense cover at the grove's edge.
"Not supernatural," Van Helsing said quietly. "Just bandits."
There were two of them on the ground, quite still, bolts protruding from their bodies. Van Helsing moved toward them to see if either man was still alive, his bow at the ready. Carl stayed back, noticing the horses a few yards away... three horses, in fact.
He was about to call for Van Helsing when he was grabbed from behind, choking as a blow to the stomach forced the air out of his lungs. Whoever had him was clearly larger than he was and strong, too. Carl started to struggle even as he gasped for air, but stopped as he felt cool steel against his throat.
Van Helsing turned abruptly, lifting his crossbow.
"Drop it!" said the voice in Carl's ear. "Drop the bow or I'll cut his throat!"
Van Helsing continued to advance toward them, his eyes darkening as they stared at Carl's captor. Carl thought to call out to Van Helsing, to tell him not to do it, that he was probably dead anyway; without his weapon, Van Helsing might be, too.
The man dragged him backward toward the stream, the blade pressed against his neck. Carl tried not to whimper as he felt a trickle of blood. "Do it!" the man shouted.
Van Helsing suddenly stopped and smiled, his demeanor changing, or at least appearing to. "Very well," he said reasonably. "I am putting the bow down. No need to do anything rash."
Instead of dropping the bow, he lowered it slowly, placing it on the ground. The bandit moved the knife away from Carl's throat, not far away, but just enough. It proved to be his fatal mistake as the small throwing knife Van Helsing had retrieved from his boot flew through the air and landed in the bandit's forehead. The dead man fell backwards, pulling Carl with him as his body fell into the icy stream.
"Carl!" Van Helsing was at his side in a moment, pulling him out of the water and away from the dead man. "Are you hurt?"
He was not, but he was soaked, and he was suddenly so cold he could barely splutter an answer. "N-- no." He touched the cut underneath his chin; it was bleeding, but not much. "Not harmed."
"Come, let's get you to the fire." With Van Helsing's arm around his shoulder, they quickly returned to their campsite, and Carl immediately knelt by the fire. Van Helsing fetched a small flask from their saddlebags, moistened a bit of cloth with it, and handed it to him.
Carl flinched as he applied it to the cut. Van Helsing handed him the flask and he drank, but the strong brandy failed to warm him, instead burning his empty stomach as he swallowed.
"You need to get out of that robe."
Carl looked up and blinked dumbly.
"You will never warm up wearing that robe. It's soaked through." He moved away to rummage through their belongings.
Oh.
Cold and miserable as he was, Carl's eyes followed Van Helsing as he moved. How did the man remain so calm? Carl was shaking, and it was not only from the cold.
But even coming a hair's-breadth away from death, apparently, was not enough to staunch his baser thoughts, as his eyes were drawn to the muscle in Van Helsing's back and thighs as he bent over a saddlebag. The icy water, however, had worked marvelously well to dampen his body's response.
He quickly averted his eyes as Van Helsing turned and approached the fire. "Here," he said, holding out a spare cloak. "This should do. Take that robe off."
Carl balked at the command, even as he untied the rope sash and let it drop to the ground. It was not as if they had never seen each other unclothed, but this was somehow different. Perhaps sensing his unease, Van Helsing moved behind him, holding the cloak at the ready, and Carl drew a deep breath and struggled out of the water-soaked garment.
The cloak was wrapped around his shoulders even before the robe was completely untangled from his arms, and Van Helsing rubbed his shoulders through the cloth for a few moments. Carl shuddered, but fortunately Van Helsing seemed to believe his reaction was from the cold rather than his touch.
Van Helsing returned to the saddlebags and spread a bedroll for him near the fire, and Carl sat again, watching as the other man twisted Carl's robe to wring out some of the water before hanging it from a tree branch.
Carl hunched over the fire, still shivering. Van Helsing turned and studied him for a moment before retrieving another small cloth from his saddlebag. He tossed it to Carl as he began to put together a camp dinner. "Dry your hair and you'll warm up more quickly," he called over his shoulder.
He caught the cloth gratefully and began rubbing his wet hair. It was considerably less damp a few minutes later, when Van Helsing handed him a tin plate with a supper of bread and dried beef. He set a pan with water to heat for tea over the fire before sinking down across from Carl.
They ate in silence for a few moments. Van Helsing looked up after a time, his eyes meeting Carl's. "I knew I wouldn't hit you, or I wouldn't have thrown the knife."
He blinked in surprise. "I know." It was true. It had never occurred to him that Van Helsing would miscalculate, either in the throw of his own knife or in his determination of how much time it would take for the bandit to realize his error and cut Carl's throat. So complete was his faith in what this man could do that he had never even considered it. "I know," he repeated, and Van Helsing almost smiled for a moment, reading more in Carl's eyes than he had spoken aloud.
The intensity was too much, and Carl dropped his eyes. "What about... them?" Carl gestured toward the clearing where the dead men lay.
Van Helsing frowned. "I will take care of it," he said, brushing his hands as he finished his supper. Carl started to rise, frowning as he felt soreness where he had taken the blow to his stomach. "You. Stay." Van Helsing added pointedly. "Make tea when it's ready. Warm yourself."
He opened his mouth to protest but closed it again without speaking, for Van Helsing's expression said clearly that he would brook no argument. He nodded, and Van Helsing left for the clearing.
Carl sat quietly, waiting as the water heated. He left the fire's warmth for just a moment to scramble for cups and tea tin in the saddlebags, but even in that brief amount of time the chill seemed to fully return. He shivered as he sat again, tucking the cloak around him as he fixed the tea. He felt warmer as he drank, yet moments later, he was cold again. He shifted as close to the fire as he could sit without actually burning himself, slipped his hands inside the cloak and tried to think warm thoughts.
Despite his chill, he must have drifted off, for he started when Van Helsing returned to the camp, grumbling and soot-covered. Carl watched as he went to the stream and quickly washed before grabbing his own bedroll and setting it out across from where Carl sat.
"Is it done?" Carl asked.
Van Helsing nodded. "It is. The pyre is just downwind. Their horses are free."
"I should have come and said the words for them."
He shook his head sharply. "I'd not have you catch your death to pray for bandits who died trying to kill and rob us."
Carl glanced up, surprised by Van Helsing's uncharacteristic lack of compassion. The attack had shifted his mood, it seemed, his eyes darker than usual, his mood even more stern. He shivered, and not only from the chill the fire could not seem to vanquish. His shudder caught Van Helsing's eye, and he appraised Carl with concern.
"Are you still so cold?"
He shrugged. "Cannot seem to shake it, I'm afraid."
Van Helsing stood and picked up his bedroll, moving to Carl's other side. "Here, lie down," he said. Carl, surprised, did as Van Helsing instructed, tugging the cloak tightly around his otherwise naked body. Van Helsing sat beside him, quickly removing his boots, then pulled his own blankets over both of them. He rolled onto his side and pulled Carl's body against his own.
Carl was tucked between the fire and Van Helsing, and it was a close bet as to which was generating more heat. Even through shirt and trousers, Van Helsing's body was like the sun itself, and after shivering for what seemed like hours, he finally began to warm.
"Better?" Van Helsing asked.
He nodded, afraid, once again, that his voice would squeak like a terrified mouse if he spoke. He closed his eyes, the warmth seeping into his bones, leaving him somnolent. The arms around him were heavy, and he felt protected, secure. He felt Van Helsing shift against him...
Carl's eyes flew open. It took a conscious effort not to tense his entire body. Exactly what was prodding against the small of his back?
Oh, dear God.
It couldn't be. Except, clearly, it was. But surely, it was merely a physical reaction, the lack of any female companionship in heaven-only-knew how long? For Van Helsing was a man for women alone, wasn't he?
Wasn't he?
A near-gasp escaped his lips at the thought; he simply couldn't prevent it.
Behind him, he felt Van Helsing shift away from him, and he instantly regretted the loss of his presence. "Carl..." he said.
Carl turned onto his back, his eyes meeting Van Helsing's. His fear that his eyes would betray his own desire was outweighed by the need to see what Van Helsing's might reveal. And for once, his guard was lowered, and his beautiful eyes were wide, and shockingly vulnerable. There was warmth, and caring, and something else. Carl's breath caught again.
"I'm sorry, Carl..." he said, but he offered no excuses, no explanations that his body could not distinguish a man's body from a woman's when it was spooned against him. "It should not have happened."
Carl began to speak, but Van Helsing shook his head, his eyes dropping to the ground. "I am truly sorry, for I owe you more respect." His voice grew quiet. "You are a comfort to me, Carl. Having you here comforts me."
He lifted Van Helsing's chin, and their eyes met again. Carl's heart swelled with compassion as he saw the pain, the loneliness, the isolation Van Helsing imposed on himself fully revealed there. "I would truly comfort you, would you let me," he said.
A mixture of relief and surprise flitted across Van Helsing's face. It was easy then, for Carl to slip his arm around his neck, to draw him into a kiss. And dear heaven, could the man kiss. He'd thought Van Helsing's body against his own had felt like the sun itself, but his mouth was even hotter, and he kissed with the intensity of a man starved for it. Carl pulled him closer, until their bodies were pressed together, and Carl felt a slight tremble through the other man.
Carl broke the kiss and opened his eyes. Van Helsing was leaning on one arm as he gazed down at Carl, his eyes bright, his mouth slightly swollen from their kiss. His gaze dropped away, and for the first time Carl saw a man slightly unsure of himself, but he said nothing, no words of seduction or reassurance. He simply waited.
He didn't have to wait for long.
When Van Helsing's eyes lifted to Carl's, a decision was reflected there, and it made Carl shudder with long-repressed want. As Van Helsing's mouth met his again, a hand reached up to unfasten the cloak that was his only clothing, removing it with a twist of his wrist. Van Helsing leaned back, studying Carl's body unabashedly, his arousal clearly in evidence.
Carl kept still, determined not to flinch like a virgin. It felt indecent, his body naked and exposed while the other man remained fully clothed, staring down at him without shame. Indecent perhaps, but also very arousing, and he knew his face was flushed with warmth.
"Still cold?" Van Helsing raised an eyebrow.
Carl blinked. He almost sounded... playful. Dear God, who is this and what have you done with my ever-so-righteous demon hunter? "Perhaps just a little," he said, lifting an eyebrow of his own.
"Maybe I can help," Van Helsing replied, sliding his hands down Carl's chest, leaning down to kiss him again. Carl no longer cared who this creature was, hoping only that he wasn't leaving anytime soon. Carl's fingers somehow managed to find the buttons on Van Helsing's shirt, and if he thought pressing his naked body against Van Helsing's clothed one was arousing, it was nothing compared to the feeling of bare chest against bare chest. He could no longer remain still, and he rolled over, pushing Van Helsing with him until he was flat on his back, Carl straddling his hips.
Oh, yes, this was better, he thought as he caught his breath. Van Helsing underneath him, his hands on the man's chest, feeling each rapid breath. Carl leaned forward, taking control of their kiss this time, breaking it only to move his mouth downward, tasting Van Helsing's chin, neck and chest.
And if shuddering underneath Van Helsing had felt incredibly good -- and it had -- feeling him shiver underneath Carl's hands was even better. Carl glanced up to see Van Helsing's head fall back, his mouth open, hands clenching the blankets underneath them as Carl's mouth moved down his chest, his stomach.
Carl reached lower, feeling Van Helsing's hot, rigid sex underneath his trousers, and the groan this elicited pleased Carl greatly. His confidence increased with each shudder, each sound. Van Helsing's responses to his hands and mouth were quickly becoming an addiction. His own sense of urgency increased, and he unbuttoned the trousers and yanked them down and off before sucking the hot flesh underneath into his mouth.
Oh, this was heaven, to feel Van Helsing writhing under him, to hear his soft moans of pleasure as he tasted him. So hot on his tongue, so perfect, he could barely believe this was actually happening. He felt conflicted between the desire to make it last and the urge to increase the pace, to feel Van Helsing lose control, to make him shake and shudder and come down Carl's throat.
The latter was winning out, though, and he was so involved in his task that he barely heard his name spoken softly. "Carl..."
"Mmm..." he answered, without lifting his head.
"Carl..." He was gently tugged, and he let the rigid sex slip from his mouth regretfully. Van Helsing pulled him up and kissed him thoroughly, and all was forgiven. His hands slid down Carl's body, caressing his back, then moving purposefully lower, one hand grasping his sex while the other hand slipped between the cheeks of his ass to gently tease.
Carl moaned aloud before he broke their kiss to meet the other man's eyes. Did he want what Carl thought he wanted? The finger moved again, and there was no mistaking it. Carl closed his eyes at the sensation, whispering an answer to the unspoken question. "Yes. Now, please."
Van Helsing chuckled. "Always so polite, our Carl."
Yes, your Carl. Whenever you want him.
Van Helsing kissed Carl once more before rolling him onto his side, releasing him from his arms long enough to fumble for something in a saddlebag. He returned, and Carl sighed with pleasure at the presence of Van Helsing pressed against him from behind. One of his hands slipped around Carl's waist to stroke his sex, while a slick finger teased his ass.
Carl pressed back, and he heard Van Helsing laugh before he obliged, gently working the finger inside of him. He began kissing the back of Carl's neck, and Carl moaned softly in response, slowly becoming overwhelmed by sensation. The finger slipped out and was returned with more oil, and Carl tried not to push back too much. He loved the feel of Van Helsing inside him, couldn't wait any longer to really feel him.
"Please," he said, "now."
There was no knowing chuckle this time, but the hand was removed, replaced moments later by the press of a large and erect cock against his ass. Van Helsing pressed forward slowly, and Carl tried not to moan as he was entered, because he felt bloody huge, and despite the preparation, it was not easy. Carl gasped as he finally felt Van Helsing fully inside him, trying vainly to inhale enough air to keep his head from swimming.
Van Helsing stilled, waiting for Carl to relax, and it occurred to him that Van Helsing was no stranger to this -- he knew precisely what he was doing. But thought was quickly pushed aside by his own need and the heat of the man buried deep inside him. He exhaled slowly, and some of his tension eased, and he felt Van Helsing move just slightly.
Oh... it was almost too much, that first, small hint of pleasure. He nodded sharply, pushing his hips back to encourage Van Helsing to move. And he did, slowly pulling out and then back in again, and Carl began to shake, because nothing had ever felt like this; no other man or woman had ever made him react so.
"More," Carl gasped, his voice rattling low in his throat. "Harder," he said, shameless now.
Van Helsing pulled out, rolling Carl onto his back. He looked beautiful, Carl thought, his eyes dark with want, his face flushed, and for once, he was holding nothing back. He pushed inside Carl again, thrusting deep and hard, just as he wanted, striking that place inside that almost made him come apart. He did it again, and again, and Carl stopped trying to contain his moans and gasps and gave free rein to his need to feel and taste. He pulled Van Helsing down and kissed him, his hands on Van Helsing's neck, his back, his thighs. Carl's own sex lay untouched between them, but it mattered not at all, for he felt his pleasure building, and soon it was too much to contain, and he cried out as he came even as Van Helsing continued to thrust inside of him.
Van Helsing's eyes flared as he felt Carl tighten around him, and he soon followed, thrusting hard and then stilling deep inside Carl. He kissed Carl as he came, the kiss becoming a gasp for air as he shuddered his completion.
They separated slowly until they were resting on their backs beside each other, gazing up at the winter stars. Carl reached down to pull discarded blankets around them as he felt his heart slowly return to its normal beat. He avoided Van Helsing's eyes, trying not to worry that he might have second thoughts and regret this when the sun rose.
"Carl," Van Helsing said softly.
Or perhaps he had overestimated and the second thoughts and regret would begin forthwith. "Mmm?" he answered, keeping his tone even.
Van Helsing turned toward Carl with bright eyes. "Perhaps... I might be in need of comfort again later."
He tried not to smile too widely. "Always happy to help," he replied mildly. His smile was returned as Van Helsing wrapped his arms around Carl again and closed his eyes.
Yes, always happy to help, Carl thought as he drifted off to sleep.
Hell just might be worth it.
~ end ~