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hopipollahorror · 2 months

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Psyche

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing, Original male character

Relationship: Original male character/Agatha Van Helsing

Rating: Explicit

@alma37 @hopipollahorror @moremoveslessannouncements-blog

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Agatha left immediately after Dracula was released from the Harker Center. She left her office, took a cab and, as soon as she got home, she pulled out her suitcase and began throwing things into it. When the suitcase was almost full, she stopped, realizing that she no longer perceived herself as Zoe. She tried to remember when she changed. She remembered her way from Kathleen's destroyed house, how she looked out the window of the company car, periodically falling into a semblance of sleep or stupor. And when they got to the center, she was Agatha. Absolutely sane and completely healthy. And this did not surprise her at all.

Agatha didn't have time to think about it. She needed to leave, and as soon as possible. Rummaging through Zoe's memory of places she could go, she remembered a tropical island in French Polynesia where Zoe spent the summer in her first year after graduating from university. The relief soon turned to horror when, after calling several travel agencies, Agatha discovered that all tours for this season were sold out.

Renfield unexpectedly helped. While searching for an old notebook where the phone number of her friend, the owner of a small travel agency, was written down, in her bag she came across a business card that a strange lawyer had given her before he left.

Agatha didn't know why she called him. But Renfield helped her. As she exited the taxi at the airport, Agatha asked herself why she thought she could even trust him, but she brushed the thought aside. Renfield was reserved, businesslike, silent, confident. He didn't ask any questions, answered to her desperate request that he would see what he could do, and an hour and a half later he called and said that he had sent information about booking accommodation on the island and plane tickets to her email.

‘Why are you helping me?’ asked Agatha. In response, Renfield smiled thoughtfully and said nothing. In parting, he shook her hand and wished her to take care of herself.

With that, she left.

The island of Moorea was sunny, tiny, and filled to the brim with peace and joy. Having settled in a small bungalow on the shore of a sandy beach, Agatha spent the first few days simply sleeping, eating, and lying on the snow-white sand. Lying on her back, she stared at the clouds, looked closely at the birds soaring above, squinting from the sun, and absorbed the surrounding silence with all her body.

Nobody bothered her. The bungalow she stayed in was the only one left from the old hotel complex. A couple of decades ago, several huts standing next to it were washed away by a flood, and the hotel was closed. But this small house survived, and from that time on it became a refuge for newlyweds who love solitude. Agatha liked it immediately.

She spent whole days splashing in the bright blue water and gorging herself on fruit, and after sunset, she lay for a long time dozing on the sand. There was something primordially crazy about it. She even refused to wear clothes – why would she, if the beach is closed and there is no one in this part of the island for weeks?

The days were the same and it was wonderful. Agatha, who was always responsible for something, was always in a hurry somewhere and was worried about something, physically felt something inside her being smoothed out, like a crumpled sheet of paper on which there was an important thing written that until now no one couldn't make out – because it was squizzed in someone's hand for too long.

That evening she came for a swim just after sunset. Coming ashore, she shook herself off like a cat and, anticipating several hours of sweet slumber, lay flat on her stomach.

Later, in the bedroom of a small hut, lying alone and looking into the tropical night, Agatha asked herself why she wasn't surprised, didn't twitch, wasn't scared. Why, when there, on the beach, a man's palm lay on her back, she didn't turn around and drive the stranger away.

She lay there, inhaling the sea-salt-saturated air, spreading out across the cooling sand, not trying to get up or move. He had large palms, warm and strong, they slid over her skin, collecting the remaining water, moving down to the small of her back, gently squeezing her thighs. It was so strange to realize that she was completely naked, and he didn't even have to spread her legs to get to... Agatha held her breath as his fingers lightly touched her. Moving up and down, teasing, he began to lazily caress her. He was in no hurry. He was in no hurry at all.

Agatha lay motionless. She felt that now he was closer, felt the touch of his lips on her shoulder, but he still simply caressed her, then approaching, then moving away, then pressing his fingers to the most sensitive point, then releasing it. It was like he was catching a butterfly.

Agatha moaned and bit her lips. Ready, crazed, revealed. When she came, his hands lifted her by the hips, and without turning her over and still remaining invisible, he plunged into her. He was big, and it would probably hurt if she didn't want him so much. She lay with her arms outstretched, feeling him thrust, carefully and gently, and the beach beneath her became a thin line on which she balanced, as if on a tightrope, and then disappeared altogether. Agatha hung in the air, and her body was a gift to this stranger who lifted her into the heavens.

When Agatha woke up, the first stars were lighting up in the sky. She was alone on the beach, a cool evening wind was blowing from the sea. She was terribly hungry. Laughing, she stood up and, taking a towel, walked towards the bungalow.

She didn't go to the beach for the next few days. Half of it was because she was afraid to break the spell – the next morning the crazy adventure began to seem like a fantasy, an afternoon dream. She didn't even ask the maid, who came every three days, if she had noticed anyone nearby. However, even if she asked, how would she describe him? She didn't see him. Agatha laughed at her stupidity and, the more time passed, the more convinced she became that she had simply imagined everything.

A week later, she woke up in her bedroom in the hut to a slight movement of air. Turning over on her side, she managed to notice the high outline in the doorway of the terrace. That night was burning, prickly, sweet. And this time she screamed.

He always came to her after sunset, and she saw neither his face nor his figure. She knew that he was tall, strong and that he had a big dick. In the morning, while making coffee, Agatha thought about what Zoe would say. But Zoe had a turbulent youth, so perhaps she would have shrugged her shoulders and advised Agatha to enjoy it.

The days on the island, as before, were viscous and languid, like drops of honey. Agatha was saturated with them, as all northerners strive to be saturated with the warmth of spring. She was accustomed to the spartan atmosphere of Budapest, to the prickly frosts – and loneliness. Therefore, she unmistakably felt when it was time to leave.

She guessed that he was watching her, and since she didn't like goodbyes, in the morning the day before departure, she sent the maid away, saying that she would clean the rooms herself.

But he came anyway. Agatha was walking from the corridor to the bedroom when he grabbed her and slammed her into the wall in the dark. It was like that day at the beach. Agatha felt him on her back – his palms, shoulders, fingers. Not affectionate, as then – hot and angry. Pulling up her nightgown, he spread her legs and entered. He took her hard and severely until Agatha gave in, letting him in and submitting. He thrusted, sharply, painfully, finishing, and pulled out of her, leaving a taste of melancholy and parting.

The next day, Agatha went to work at the Harker Center.

Agatha did not feel any inconvenience from living and working under Zoe's name – her great-niece seemed to ‘meld’ with her, becoming her full-fledged part. Overall, none of them were seriously injured.

None of the employees were surprised by her presence, just as they were not surprised by her departure. Agatha once again mentally congratulated Zoe for hiring Kate Bloxam, the ideal crisis manager, and plunged into a routine.

The Foundation needed a new vision of the future, reforms, and financing. At the end of the fourth month, she was finally able to find suitable sponsors, and since the negotiations were successful, she planned to open another laboratory. Agatha worked from dawn to dusk, sometimes forgetting to have lunch. The adventure on the island of Moorea remained on the periphery – consciousness, soul, and memory. Until one day, in a rare free minute, scrolling through the internet, Agatha came across an advertisement for a closed nightclub.

She read the ad once, and then twice, and reached for her phone.

‘Renfield,’ she said.

‘Miss Van Helsing. How can I serve you?’

Agatha paused, hesitating.

‘I need to book an evening at the Cupid and Psyche club. For two. On Friday.’

‘With whom?’ Renfield seemed not at all surprised by either her call or her strange request. It was as if women he barely knew were calling him every day and asking him to book an evening at a club for erotic meetings.

‘You know with whom,’ Agatha answered.

‘I obey,’ said Renfield after a pause.

After saying goodbye, Agatha hung up.

Entering the door on Friday evening, above which a sign with the words Cupid and Psyche was softly glowing, Agatha loitered a little.

The closed club Cupid and Psyche was intended for intimate meetings of a special nature. According to its rules, one of the participants had to remain blindfolded throughout the entire date – or the meeting had to take place in the dark. In the latter case, the participant who was chosen to play the ‘sighted’ role received a photo of the partner in advance. This made it possible to achieve the effect of a one-sided blind date.

Agatha entered the hallway, took the key from the elegantly dressed head waiter, and moved to the second floor, where the meeting rooms were located. She booked a date in the dark, so when she opened the door, she couldn't see anything inside. Entering, Agatha closed the door behind her and stood for a while, trying to get her bearings. Having taken a step, then another, she felt that she had hit an obstacle. Realizing that she had found a bed, Agatha sat down on it and began to wait.

‘When did you understand?’ a voice came from the darkness.

‘I think right away,’ Agatha smiled.

‘Renfield?’

‘Renfield.’

Silence.

‘But if so, then why …’

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and still, she saw only his silhouette approaching her.

‘I think I guessed from the very beginning,’ she said again. ‘But it's difficult ... you know, to admit that you love dates.’

‘Dates?’

‘An instrument of sin,’ Agatha said with a laugh. ‘That's what we were taught at the monastery school. Dates and chocolate and I don't know what else. Everything that brings pleasure has a flaw. Dates make you thirsty. Chocolate destroys teeth. And you are a murderer.’

‘I haven’t killed anyone since I started drinking donor blood.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Absolutely.’

Agatha looked up at the dark spot in front of her. It probably would have made her nervous if she hadn't slept with him every other day under similar circumstances.

‘What do you want?’ Dracula asked her.

‘You know, what I want,’ Agatha answered.

The bed dipped and he sank down next to her.

‘But why?’

Agatha raised her hand and pulled him towards her.

‘I want to feel you.’

They always understood each other. In a monastery, on a ship, on an island.

She felt him bend down, smooching her, and she found herself in his arms. He was everywhere, from all sides. It was as if she was inside him. ‘So huge,’ Agatha whispered, smiling. He pulled her close to him. His lips slid from her cheek, along the chin, warmed the skin on the neck.

He drinks her like expensive wine, a priceless beverage. Like an offering, he had waited too long for. And when he breaks away from her, Agatha feels her fingers trembling on the back of his head, tangling in strands of damp hair.

For a short moment, it suddenly seems to her that they have switched places, and it is he who is lying on the evening beach, and she comes up to him from behind, touching his shoulder.

Smiling, Agatha frees herself from his embrace and looks at him for a minute. He's still just a blur against the darkness, but she sees him. Now she sees him.

And yet... Looking around, Agatha gets up.

After taking a few steps, she feels the heavy velvet with her hands. Here. She finds the edge, grabs it.

‘You must have a blindfold. Those are the rules,’ she says. ‘In case the guests want mutual impenetrable darkness. I have.’

‘Me too.’

‘Put it on.’

‘For what?’

‘Put it on.’

A fuss is heard in the darkness, then a rustling sound.

After waiting another second, Agatha moves the curtain aside. A bright light floods the room, falls on Dracula and on the bed. Dracula sits blindfolded, turning his face to Agatha.

Letting go of the curtain, Agatha approaches Dracula. She takes him by the hand.

‘Tell me, do you feel good?’ she asks.

‘Incomparable,’ he brings her hand to his face, lightly biting her fingers.

She smiles.

‘Then open your eyes.’

She sits on the bed, watching as he takes off the bandage, as he blinks blindly, realizing that he is bathed in sunlight. He brings his palms to his face.

‘How … can it be?’

‘Some beliefs are important to check sometimes,’ Agatha laughs. ‘There is a large archive dedicated to vampires in the Harker Center,’ she said, still smiling. ‘Quite a lot is known about them now. Some wrote diaries, others were told about by those who lived next to them or ran away from them. None of them were afraid of the sun. There is no evidence of anyone being burned by sunlight. I thought you couldn't be that unique.’

They were silent for some time.

‘I love you, Agatha Van Helsing,’ said Dracula.

‘I know.’

‘Is that your answer? In the spirit of this unfortunate ... What's his name?’

‘Han Solo. You drank my blood. You know the answer.’

‘I need to hear it.’

‘Count Dracula, I love you,’ said Agatha. ‘Satisfied?’

‘Almost. Marry me.’

‘For God's sake. We live in the twenty-first century.’

‘I am tormented by the pains of noble honor.’

Agatha burst out laughing.

‘After so many years?’

He looked at her completely seriously.

‘Marry me,’ he repeated.

And she agreed.

‘We'll spend our honeymoon in Moorea,’ Dracula said, pulling her towards him.

‘There are good beaches there.’

‘Sunsets.’

‘And understanding staff.’

‘Almost like in my castle. Five-star service.’

‘And we will spend our wedding night in the light.’

Dracula laughed and threw her onto the bed.

‘Do you want to see my eyes when I take you?’

‘I want to see you cum.’

‘Well, why wait?’

***

Renfield turned off the computer and stood up from the table. Preparing for a wedding is a tedious thing, he admitted. On the other hand, the good news is that he won’t have to organize night celebrations. Dark lords, of course, can have their quirks. This does not mean that you have to pay the waiters double tariff because of this.

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