Work Text:
Seward was agitated. There was a restlessness under his skin, different from the insomnia that was always nipping at his heels. He worried for Lucy, of course, but this was something else; this had everything to do with seeing his old master again. Professor Van Helsing.
Heavens, it had been good to see him again; to feast his eyes upon that strong brow and those kind, clever eyes. To hear again the accented English that was so dear to him. It had been years, but the love he held for the man was still as deep and potent as ever. And not just love…
Desire lay thick on his tongue like sickeningly sweet treacle. He often neglected his needs in favour of work, and it had been a very long time now since he had indulged in matters of the flesh. When he had met Lucy, she had immediately become very dear to him, more so than any woman he’d met before, and he had hoped that perhaps she could inspire him to more natural desires. She had turned him down, and though he did not fault her or dear Arthur, it plagued him – like the last nail had been hammered into the coffin of his hope.
Now, Lucy was recovering from her illness, and Van Helsing was back in Amsterdam; Seward sent him a telegram informing him that all was well. With Lucy, at least.
His own ridiculous predicament, though, he hid to the best of his ability, but it started to affect his work. With his mind wandering the ambiguous land between memory and fantasy, he found himself distracted.
He pleasured himself at night, even going as far as thrusting his fingers into himself, but it merely culminated in him sobbing into his pillow from how unsatisfying it was. No, what he was missing was not genital stimulation; it was a man. An older man of medium weight with large hands, who could for a few moments bring him back to sweet Amsterdam and the embrace of Van Helsing.
There was one such man who’d had Seward’s attention for quite a while, although he had never seriously considered him as a potential lover, since he was his patient; Seward often found his eyes lingering on Renfield, especially his broad shoulders and strong jawline.
Ethically, it was deplorable. Renfield was a sick man under his care. The only thing that might make it permissible was that Seward wanted to be the passive partner – surely that made the violation lesser? Besides, from some of their conversations Seward had inferred that Renfield was like that, which meant that he’d likely be willing; Seward knew from his glass that he was handsome, and Van Helsing had told him as much many times.
The restlessness was growing into an itch, burning under his skin. At last, Seward came to a decision.
He asked the maid to draw a hot bath, and told her she was free to go once she was done. Then he ventured downstairs, where the patients had all settled in for the night. After greeting the night attendant – pretending everything was normal, that he was making one of his usual rounds, albeit a bit late – he steered his steps to Renfield’s room. Looking through the observational trap, he saw his patient moving around. He unlocked the door and stepped inside; Renfield did not seem surprised to see him at this hour, however, something that he couldn’t help but be bothered by.
“Good evening, doctor,” Renfield greeted him, still as calm as he had been when Seward had last seen him some hours before.
“Good evening. Would you like to come with me?” Seward asked.
“Where to?”
“On a walk.”
“Outside?”
“No,” Seward said, “my quarters.”
The words hung in the air between them, and Seward knew that the implication of them was clear, even to a madman like Renfield.
“I would like that very much, doctor,” Renfield told him, and they left the small room behind.
Seward told the night attendant that they’d be gone for a while, an impromptu therapy session, but instead of leading Renfield to his study, they ascended the stairs and entered Seward’s living quarters.
It was strange to have him there, to see him standing in the hallway, in Seward’s home, with his soft, non-descript clothes, free from any clasps or buckles he might hurt himself with. Here, there were plenty of things he could hurt himself – or Seward – with, even though Seward had put away the most obvious tools that could be used as weapons.
Seward stepped close to him.
“You understand that this meeting is to happen at utmost discretion, yes?” he said.
“Of course,” Renfield replied readily. “I would not dream of breathing a word of it.”
“Good.”
Not that Renfield’s promise mattered much. After all, no one would ever believe a lunatic’s word against a doctor’s, if it came to that.
Renfield looked around each room as Seward led him to the bathroom, obviously curious. Seward could see why; his room in the asylum was bare and impersonal, and a lack of environmental stimulants was an unfortunate reality of institutionalisation. To him, even Seward’s modest quarters must’ve looked like Buckingham Palace.
The bathtub was filled, just as Seward had instructed. He put his fingers in the water, and found it to be at a perfect temperature.
“I would like you to bathe, and wash yourself thoroughly,” he told Renfield.
Renfield nodded and started undressing, untucking his shirt, unlacing his trousers, popping open soft buttons with swiftness. There was a certain eagerness to his movements that Seward hadn’t expected. If the eagerness was for the bath or for him, he wasn’t sure.
The way Renfield undressed in front of him without any sense of propriety or decency revealed his detached nature, but Seward didn’t scold him for it or look away. Instead, he took careful interest in the body that was revealed to him; the strong legs and arms, the softness around his belly, the specks of white in the coarse hair on his limbs and chest. Physically, he was a perfect specimen.
Seeing Renfield’s flaccid cock dangle between his legs made Seward blush, and he averted his eyes until Renfield had submerged himself in the bath.
He gave the man a bar of soap and a washcloth, then watched him curiously; he had seen madmen take bites out of soap like it was bread. Renfield, for all of his delusions, started to scrub himself down without hesitation, methodically and thoroughly, just like Seward wanted.
He cleared his throat to get Renfield’s attention.
“There’s a sheet here for you when you’re done,” he said, pointing out the folded towel next to the tub. “Then, you will go through that door.” He motioned to the bedroom door across the room.
Renfield nodded, and Seward left the bathroom – trusting that he wouldn’t try to drown himself – and made his way into his bedroom.
He undressed, folded his clothes, and put them away. His bareness left him feeling vulnerable, and he decided to wear his nightshirt, never mind the fact that he soon would be vulnerable in every single way to a man that was, in every manner of the word, a lunatic.
From his medical bag, he retrieved the familiar bottle of petroleum jelly; he’d rather do this part himself. He remembered in Amsterdam, how the Professor would take great pleasure in laying him over his lap and give more attention to his behind than was really necessary, until Seward was mewling and begging for him to take him.
He closed his eyes and kept those memories close at hand as he fingered himself, making his hole smooth and wet and welcoming. Oh, if only Van Helsing could be here with him! But they had closed the door on their love affair, and it would be unwise to pry it open – especially if such an attempt should be unwanted. He didn’t dare risk it, not now when Lucy was relying on Van Helsing’s good will for her recovery; a good will that Van Helsing had stated rested on his relationship with Seward.
It was bittersweet, lying there and wanting, all while knowing that he couldn’t. Indulgently, he pushed his fingers far into himself, letting out soft moans. He had always liked this a bit too much.
The door to the bathroom creaked as it opened, and Seward quickly pulled his fingers out of himself.
Renfield stepped into the room, draped in the towel. He looked intently at Seward on the bed.
“Come here,” Seward said, and without hesitation Renfield approached him. “You can let go of the towel.”
And he did, letting it fall to the floor with barely a sound.
Seward’s eyes roamed over his body, now flushed pink with the heat of the bath. Desire flared up in him, and he wanted this man on top of him now; he was taller than Van Helsing, but their weight should be similar, should be enough to bring him back to those happy days spent in his professor’s bed.
“Get on the bed,” he said, and Renfield did as he was told, sitting down across from him.
Seward licked his lips. He hadn’t ever really needed to say much with Van Helsing, more than affirm that he liked whatever they were doing. Now, giving Renfield instructions, putting words to what he wanted… it made him nervous.
He wasn’t sure what to say next. Seeing Renfield completely bare in front of him made him feel silly in his nightshirt, while paradoxically being grateful for the way it offered him some modesty.
Renfield watched him for a long, silent moment, like he was studying him. Seward didn’t like it.
“I assumed,” Renfield started, his voice a tad hoarser than usual, “that you would want me to play the woman’s role.”
Seward’s face burned. Damn him. He didn’t like to think of it like that, and he most definitely did not like to hear it said out loud.
“Well, I don’t. I want you to take me,” Seward said, bold in his indignation.
Renfield was all too happy to oblige. He leaned over Seward, his shadow falling over him like a menacing beast, and for a moment Seward almost regretted his decision to invite Renfield into his bed – but it was thrilling too, like playing with fire.
Renfield leaned down, close to his face, like he was about to kiss him. Seward put his hand over his mouth, stopping him.
“No kissing,” he told him.
He knew what Renfield put in his mouth – bloated flies, spiders, raw and living sparrows – and he did not want to be kissed by a mouth like that.
Besides, the last person he’d kissed had been Van Helsing, years ago, and ridiculous as it might seem, he didn’t want to erase that kiss by kissing someone else. He wanted to preserve the memory of his and Van Helsing’s last kiss, for as long as he could.
Luckily, Renfield didn’t fight him on that point. Instead, he leaned back up and positioned himself properly between Seward’s spread legs.
Strong hands grasped his thighs and pushed them up a bit towards his chest, and Seward could physically feel Renfield’s eyes on his priviest parts.
“You have prepared yourself for me already,” Renfield said, and he sounded pleased, almost purring the words like a cat.
For me. Seward did not like that, it made it sound like he had done it for Renfield specifically. Renfield was nothing but a means to an end, a simple replacement.
“Keep quiet, please. I do not want–” to ruin the illusion, “–to hear you speak,” Seward instructed him.
Renfield raised an eyebrow, but obediently kept quiet. He reached over to the bedside table and scooped up some of the petroleum jelly, his movements sure and easy like he’d done this a hundred times before.
The wet sound of Renfield slicking up his member was loud in the otherwise quiet room, making Seward blush, and then Renfield spread his buttocks and– this was all moving a bit fast.
Before Seward could utter a word, Renfield was breaching him. Dear Lord, he was a sizeable man, and Seward hadn’t done this in years, the sensation was almost too much. As Renfield pushed into him, the corners of his eyes were getting damp.
Renfield grabbed him by the hips and pulled him into his lap and onto his cock, holding him up like a carcass in a butcher’s shop. The angle was good, but Van Helsing had never held him like that, no Van Helsing had always kept close to him.
“L-lean down on me,” Seward panted.
Renfield settled his weight on him and yes, yes, that was it.
Seward closed his eyes and let his hands wander over Renfield’s chest, and for a moment he could almost believe that the warm body pressed against his belonged to Van Helsing, that it was his beloved who was thrusting into him.
But it wasn’t.
The man fucking him did not smell like Van Helsing or sound like Van Helsing, and he did not touch him like Van Helsing had; Van Helsing had caressed him all over, while Renfield kept his hands firmly on Seward’s hips. He did not move like Van Helsing either, in slow, loving movements, no, there was a forcefulness behind his advance, like a vigorous onslaught.
Renfield breathed in his face, letting out deep groans every time he shoved into him, and Seward screwed his eyes tightly, trying to lose himself in the sensation. This was not lovemaking, not like it had been with Van Helsing, but it was still pleasurable, somewhere beneath the disappointment and the slight soreness he felt.
God, he just wished Renfield would be a bit quieter!
Suddenly, Renfield pushed his nightshirt up, exposing his hot skin to the chilly night air.
Seward opened his eyes.
“What are you–”
He couldn’t even finish the sentence; the way Renfield was ogling his body was like a punch to the gut. Seeing himself watched with such raw hunger… it was overwhelming, almost frightening.
Renfield closed his fist around Seward’s leaking cock and stroked him once, and Seward cried out and climaxed, spilling over Renfield’s fingers.
Van Helsing would always slow down a bit if Seward finished first, to let him get his bearings back, but Renfield had no such care of him. Instead, he kept at it, jostling his body uncomfortably on the bed, stealing from him the sweetness of his orgasm.
At least Renfield’s movements were becoming more erratic as well, signalling that he was nearing his own release, and then this whole thing could finally be over. It had been a mistake, all of it.
Then, Renfield thrusted hard into him, and descended on him before Seward had a chance to anticipate it, covering his mouth with his own and pushing his tongue past his lips, invading him.
Seward struggled against him, but Renfield shackled his wrists with his hands, holding him down while he continued to lazily rock his hips through his orgasm, licking into Seward’s mouth, laying claim to all of him, erasing any trace of any kiss he’d had before.
After a few moments that felt like an eternity, Renfield released him, withdrew himself and pulled out of him. Seward stayed in position, with his hands lying limply on either side of him.
All he could do was stare at the ceiling, and feel Renfield’s warm seed trickle out of him.