Dracula

Chapter two

It had been hours since he had begun his exploration of the castle, and Johnathan knew that half of the day must be gone. If he thought he was tired before his roam of the castle, he was completely exhausted now. Many times on his adventure, he had found himself running in a panic, as he thought he was lost, only to pop out one of the many doorways he had already passed through.

Finally, he had arrived once more on the balcony above the main dining hall. He found a little servants stair case and made his way down to the floor, the smell of smoke was laden in the air and he flopped into the chair he had sat in the night before. His legs ached with fatigue and he groaned softly, it was so good to sit. He let is head fall onto his arms which were crossed on the table in front of him, and then within seconds, sleep settled over him. This nap was completely dreamless, much to his relief.

He wasn't aware of the Count entering the dining hall, seeming to materialize from the shadows themselves. Nor did he notice when the Count took a seat right beside him. And he didn't stir when the Count began gently petting his hair, humming softly. It was only when the petting stopped, that Jonathan woke up.

He pulled his head from his arms, groggily, head feeling like it was filled with lead. Jonathan felt the beginning of a headache pressing behind his eyes. Slowly he brought his head to look around his surroundings, and jolted at the sight of the Count sitting beside him, smiling. Something was  different, though. The Count didn't look like the count, he was younger, maybe by twenty years. His hair was no longer long and gray, but it was a salt and peppered black. His skin had a more youthful appearance, though aged wrinkles were still around his eyes and mouth. And his EYES, they were bright and strikingly gray.

Jonathan squinted but his throbbing head was too foggy to be able to register what was going on. He watched in a state of confusion as the Count poured some red wine into a wine glass and set it in front of Johnathan.

"There you are, Johnny, good morning." The Count murmured softly, his voice a gentle rumble that made chills grip Jonathan's bones. Johnathan looked up again, new energy instilled in him suddenly.

"You sound... your English is... it's nearly perfect. I don't understand?" It seemed it was not his turn to be the one to stumble over his words. He considered trying again, but after multiple tries to form a coherent sentence, much to the Count's amusement, he took a deep sip of the wine.

"And it is all thanks to you, dearest Johnny." The Count now had a hand gently on Jonathan's cheek, his thumb brushed Johnathans lower lip. Jonathan felt like he couldn't move. "Now you look completely... drained. You should be off to bed." The Count said, tutting softly and ushering Johnathan from his seat.

"Nobody calls me Johnny." Jonathan mumbled sleepily, finding that was the most appropriate thing to say, apparently.

"What was that?" The Count asked, looking back at Jonathan with those piercing eyes.

"Nothing."

Sleep was welcomed and like his nap, there was no dream. It was dark and there was a cool breeze that soothed him in his sleep beneath his covers. Not a single sound seemed to breach his room and he found blissful peace.

There came a sudden pressure against his neck, right where it met with his shoulder. It could almost be described as pleasurable, a sucking sensation that caused a satisfying ache in his hips. He gave into it, with a sensation of slipping into a thick, heavy dream. He felt himself grinding his hips up, seeking that pleasure of friction. A buzzing began in his body as his hips warmed with the pressure of climax.

And then he woke up.

His eyes opened slowly and sleepily and he groaned softly, stretching and arching his back. There came a sore ache in his legs and he furrowed his brows in confusion. He rubbed his thighs and groaned, the ache only becoming painful. He realized, in that moment, that his whole body was sore. He swung his weakened legs out of bed and put his feet on the floor, gently applying his weight. He squeezed his eyes at the pain. He finally stood and began limping towards the door, he had to pause, though, just inside the frame, and bent over stars swirling in his vision. He was already worn out and he had merely walked from the bed to the door, he hadn't even changed into proper clothes yet .

Pushing himself upright again with a groan, he started down the hallway again, but had to stop against the wall and catch his breath. In that moment, he caught his reflection in the window, just visible through the parted drapes.

He looked about as tired as he felt. His eyes seemed empty and the bags beneath them were dark. His cheeks were sunken and pale and his lips were cracked. Johnathan retaliated from the sight as though he didn't even recognize that it was him. He pushed himself up slowly and hobbled away again, continuing down the seemingly endless corridor, dragging his thin hand along the wall as he went. He hated how pitifully hunched over he felt. As he walked, he realized that he had forgotten moments down the hallway. His eyes had been slowly closing and opening all down the way, causing blanks in his memory. He shook his head, but that only made the world spin. The fire light was suddenly too bright, but he continued to stumble towards the main dining hall, the pounding bright lights of the room burned his vision and he stumbled and collapsed right in front of the fireplace, the warmth seeming to melt his skin. He let his head fall on the plush red carpet, the smell of dust and old ashes filled his nose and he blacked out.

There was a gentle caressing on his face and he opened his eyes, blurred vision made him incapable of seeing who was doing the touching, he could have sworn that there was blonde hair dancing in his face, a sweet smudged smile outlined by soft pink lips. He couldn't make himself smile, though. Suddenly he felt himself shoot into the air as though he had been launched and set back down on his feet.
"Up, up, buttercup." A perfectly crisp, male English accent rang out. Johnathan moaned, falling against the figure. Strong arms caught him and lifted him off the ground again, keeping him pressed flush against it's figure. He found himself begin sat upright in a chair and he opened his eyes again. The beautiful blonde haired woman was no longer in front of him, instead it was a man with black hair and strong cheekbones, with a pale complexion. His eyebrows were set over a dark pair of eyes that seemed to burn into Johnathan sleepy soul. The man's face was completely free from wrinkles, but there was something about him that made Johnathan feel that he was not as young as he appeared to be.
"There you are, hello there, Johnny." The man murmured, pressing a cold palm to Johnathans cheek.
"Mm... who are-?" Johnathan began, but the man shushed him softly. Johnathan found his lips closing again, and his eyes started to close again.
"No, no, darling, I cant have you falling asleep again just yet, my dear." He purred softly and leaned against the table, one arm barred against it. He picked up one of the wine glasses with a graceful hand, holding it with a cocked hand away from his person before drawing it in for a sip.
"Wait, I remember you..." Johnathan whispered. "I thought you said you didn't drink." He said, hating the way his words slurred together.
"Oh not alcohol, my dearest, not alcohol." Dracula chuckled. He stood up straight again and walked back towards Johnathan and crouched down onto his haunches, smiling up at Johnathan. He dipped a slender finger into the liquid and drew it out again dripping in a thick, dark substance.
"Is that-?" Johnathan gagged, forcing his sleepy eyes open.
"It is my dear, it is. And it is yours." Dracula said, reaching forward with the hand and caressed Johnathans face, keeping the finger he had dipped, off of his skin until he got to his lips. He thumbed them and then, with the finger he had dipped in the blood, parted Johnathans lips and pushed it passed them. He reached all the way to the back of his mouth and pressed down on his tongue. Pulling his finger out and leaving a trail of blood. Johnathan bit Dracula's finger gently, wanting to hang onto the feeling in his mouth, but it was gone and replaced the the copper taste of blood. He wanted to retch, but he couldn't. He was too tired.
Suddenly, he was in the air again, just as quickly as he had been when he was in front of the fireplace. He felt arms beneath him and his head lolled to the side, his face pressing against Dracula's neck. He found himself growing comfortable as he was carried, he didn't feel the bump of the steps, it as as though he were gliding. He found himself begin lulled to sleep. He barely noticed that Dracula's chest wasn't rising and falling like this was with the intake of a breath. He fell asleep again. He had been doing that a lot lately, but how could one not in the comfortable position he was in?