Alfred is a strong man, and an even stronger vampire - but he's still no match for the Count, who has had many more feedings and many more years to develop his abilities. He grunts as he is pinned, struggling underneath the Count, eyes wide and much too grey.
He hisses, kicking and struggling - if he is fighting this, there is no indication in his demeanor. Especially not as he tries to lean up to try and snap his jaw at Georg, anywhere he can reach.
In the back, Herbert sets a bottle of blood down, eyes wide at how his lover looks right now. Wild. Animalistic. He hurries back out and shuts the door behind him.
Georg hisses in return, shifting his weight to pin Alfred's hips with his own, doing his best to keep him still. "I will give you blood, my boy, but you need to calm down first."
He can't even see Herbert when he passes through - he's barely present enough to see Georg there on top of him, hissing and thrashing and screeching like a fox with his leg in a trap. When Georg tries again to speak to him, he only responds with another hiss -
One that turns sharply to a whine as Georg bears his hips down against his. He's running on pure instinct right now, wild, hungry, nothing but drive.
So maybe it isn't a surprise when there is a shudder that passes through him, the way he's writhing underneath the weight of the older vampire.
Well. This isn't quite how he'd planned on courting Alfred since speaking to Herbert about the idea. But the need is coming off the younger vampire in waves, and the sinuous way he writhes underneath him is intoxicating.
Maybe -- maybe this is how he can get him to calm down. Let Alfred wear himself out. He pushes a thigh between Alfred's legs to give him something to move against. "That's it," he purrs, "ride it out."
Somewhere in the back of Alfred's mind, he is bewildered at this turn of events - horrified at himself, guilty. But for the moment, he's not at the wheel, unable to control himself, every action driven solely by physical need. The pressure against him makes him keen, high pitched, through his bared fangs...the purring of Georg's voice, right there on top of him....
His subconscious brushes against the dream he had, and he gasps a little, his hips first twitching, then openly starting to grind into the older vampire's thigh. He starts to harden within the confines of his trousers, and those waves of desire he tends to cast out only grow, whirl, consume him.
His hands, crooked into claws, clench and relax up where they are pinned...but he isn't struggling to get away now.
It's not an ideal situation, truly. But the boy needs to wear himself out enough for them to restrain him properly on the bed and get some blood into him, and it's far too dangerous to take him out running through the woods when he's in this state.
So Georg adjusts his grip to tangle his fingers with Alfred's, pressing his hands back against the floor. He presses down with his hips as well; not to return the thrusts but to give Alfred something to thrust against. To work himself against until his energy is spent. Or at least enough of it that they can wrestle him into restraints.
Once his hands are being held, his grip clenches tightly - malnourishment, mercifully, dampening his strength. Georg could take him even at full strength, more than likely...but desperate animals are vicious ones.
And right now? Alfred is all animal, rutting himself up into the Count in a staccato rhythm, voice coming out in needy whimpers and whines. He's so, so thirsty...but this feels good, and for now, it's overriding his rage.
One particularly strong thrust sends him biting his lip, a bit of his own blood trickling down his leaking jaw.
The sight of blood has Georg sucking in an unneeded breath, and he glances away for a moment to try and collect himself. He's only here to hold Alfred down until he's too tired to keep fighting. That's all. That's all it can be, until the matter is further discussed with all parties.
Instead, he grips both of Alfred's wrists with one hand, swiping up the blood with his thumb and smearing it over his lips. "You'll get more. Soon. I promise."
The sounds coming out of Alfred's mouth are, by now, less snarl and more whine, a pitiful moaning as he keeps writhing, thrusting; he's completely hard, sweat starting to stick hair to his forehead.
When the thumb is dragged across his lips, his tongue flicks instinctively out to meet it, lapping at the ghost of his own blood on Georg's hand. The taste stokes new fervor in his struggle, and he bucks his hips hard, arms straining under the older vampire's grip.
But he doesn't try to bite the hand that comes near his mouth. He hesitates. Somewhere in there, Alfred is trying to reassert himself, bit by bit.
Georg shudders and quickly takes his hand away, gripping Alfred's wrist again. He presses his thigh down more firmly, grinding it against Alfred, letting him thrust against it.
He can feel that mental shift, the start of Alfred starting to return to himself. "Yes, that's it. Come back to me, wonderful boy. Follow my voice back out from the abyss."
The added pressure and friction makes the younger man let out something between a growl and a screech, his rhythm getting a bit more frantic as heat starts to pool inside him. At the rate he's going, with how little he's clearly fed, there's little doubt that he's going to wear himself out.
In fact, from the way he's panting and whining, he might not even be able to finish what he is doing before doing so.
Georg's dark purr reaches him just a little bit more than it did before - he says nothing, there are no words in his head, but...there are images. Notebooks. Measuring cups. A mortal and pestle. Drops of blood falling into a cup of water.
Oh Alfred, what have you done? He'll find out later, when Alfred's more fully back in his own head. But it looks like some sort of experimentation had gone on.
"That's it, my sweet boy," Georg murmurs, pressing a firm kiss to his forehead. "You're nearly there. Come back to us. Herbert is waiting for you."
Something in Alfred's subconscious clearly wants for Georg to know what's wrong, that he had done this to himself...which means that Alfred's presence is trying to reach out, follow the voice, come back out of this terrible, blinding hunger.
Exhaustion is catching up with him, starting to weigh him down, but his drive is fighting it, his moans thin, frantic. He's close, he's so close, his muscles are trembling with need but his rhythm is breaking-
"...Georg...."
His voice is wrong, still, a thin, raspy hiss, a pleading whine...but it's a word, a name, it's something.
"I'm here. I'm here, Alfred. I'm here for you, whenever you can come back. Allow me to wrap you in my shadow, and hold you close. Find me in the abyss and let me bring you home." He gently releases one wrist to stroke his cheek, his jaw, to try and help ground him.
When his wrist is let go, he doesn't remove it from the floor - he doesn't attack, leaning instead into the touch, into the words, into the comfort, being offered. His eyes try to focus, but he is still so dizzy, so overwhelmed -
And then, finally, his hips are twitching against Georg's thigh, a strangled moan tearing from his throat. His body spasms, shakes...and then stills, finally, panting and spent.
"...Home...." He growls, finally lifting his hand to press it to Georg's cheek. Delirious...but docile enough.
"There you are. Welcome back." Georg carefully moves off of Alfred and stands, leaning down to gather Alfred into his arms and hold him against his chest. He carries the boy to his bed and lays him down, sitting next to him and stroking his sweaty hair, pushing it back off his forehead.
Alfred is a ragdoll in Georg's arms as he is lifted to the bed - his eyes are still greyed out, face drawn from exhaustion and malnourishment; periodically, a hand twitches, or his fangs bear, the beastly part of him trying to find purchase again and failing.
He groans as his hair is swept back, sick and sore. Not ashamed, though. Not enough presence for that.
"...Didn't want...to...hurt...you..." A low whimper, barely audible. "Made a...mistake...."
"You didn't hurt me. What you need now is to rest. When you're more up to it, we'll get you some blood. For now..."
He calls Herbert in and sends him for some rope. When Herbert returns with the rope, he helps Georg to tie Alfred's wrists to the bed posts. Just to hold him there, for the time being. While he recovers.
"...Rest...." It's more echo than response - still a strange sort of growl, expression twitching as if he wants to be fierce but can't do so any longer.
He doesn't struggle much when tied - the hand that Georg binds twitches but does not pull away,.and the one Herbert binds instinctually reaches out, briefly, gently grasping at his lover's hand before falling back against the mattress.
He hisses weakly at Georg's suggestion, eyelids fluttering, then shutting as he goes still. He drifts off almost immediately...off into confusing, troubling dreams.
In his sleep, tears trickle from the corners of his eyes.
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He hisses, kicking and struggling - if he is fighting this, there is no indication in his demeanor. Especially not as he tries to lean up to try and snap his jaw at Georg, anywhere he can reach.
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Georg hisses in return, shifting his weight to pin Alfred's hips with his own, doing his best to keep him still. "I will give you blood, my boy, but you need to calm down first."
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He can't even see Herbert when he passes through - he's barely present enough to see Georg there on top of him, hissing and thrashing and screeching like a fox with his leg in a trap. When Georg tries again to speak to him, he only responds with another hiss -
One that turns sharply to a whine as Georg bears his hips down against his. He's running on pure instinct right now, wild, hungry, nothing but drive.
So maybe it isn't a surprise when there is a shudder that passes through him, the way he's writhing underneath the weight of the older vampire.
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Maybe -- maybe this is how he can get him to calm down. Let Alfred wear himself out. He pushes a thigh between Alfred's legs to give him something to move against. "That's it," he purrs, "ride it out."
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His subconscious brushes against the dream he had, and he gasps a little, his hips first twitching, then openly starting to grind into the older vampire's thigh. He starts to harden within the confines of his trousers, and those waves of desire he tends to cast out only grow, whirl, consume him.
His hands, crooked into claws, clench and relax up where they are pinned...but he isn't struggling to get away now.
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So Georg adjusts his grip to tangle his fingers with Alfred's, pressing his hands back against the floor. He presses down with his hips as well; not to return the thrusts but to give Alfred something to thrust against. To work himself against until his energy is spent. Or at least enough of it that they can wrestle him into restraints.
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And right now? Alfred is all animal, rutting himself up into the Count in a staccato rhythm, voice coming out in needy whimpers and whines. He's so, so thirsty...but this feels good, and for now, it's overriding his rage.
One particularly strong thrust sends him biting his lip, a bit of his own blood trickling down his leaking jaw.
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Instead, he grips both of Alfred's wrists with one hand, swiping up the blood with his thumb and smearing it over his lips. "You'll get more. Soon. I promise."
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When the thumb is dragged across his lips, his tongue flicks instinctively out to meet it, lapping at the ghost of his own blood on Georg's hand. The taste stokes new fervor in his struggle, and he bucks his hips hard, arms straining under the older vampire's grip.
But he doesn't try to bite the hand that comes near his mouth. He hesitates. Somewhere in there, Alfred is trying to reassert himself, bit by bit.
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He can feel that mental shift, the start of Alfred starting to return to himself. "Yes, that's it. Come back to me, wonderful boy. Follow my voice back out from the abyss."
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In fact, from the way he's panting and whining, he might not even be able to finish what he is doing before doing so.
Georg's dark purr reaches him just a little bit more than it did before - he says nothing, there are no words in his head, but...there are images. Notebooks. Measuring cups. A mortal and pestle. Drops of blood falling into a cup of water.
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"That's it, my sweet boy," Georg murmurs, pressing a firm kiss to his forehead. "You're nearly there. Come back to us. Herbert is waiting for you."
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Exhaustion is catching up with him, starting to weigh him down, but his drive is fighting it, his moans thin, frantic. He's close, he's so close, his muscles are trembling with need but his rhythm is breaking-
"...Georg...."
His voice is wrong, still, a thin, raspy hiss, a pleading whine...but it's a word, a name, it's something.
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And then, finally, his hips are twitching against Georg's thigh, a strangled moan tearing from his throat. His body spasms, shakes...and then stills, finally, panting and spent.
"...Home...." He growls, finally lifting his hand to press it to Georg's cheek. Delirious...but docile enough.
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"You'll be just fine."
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He groans as his hair is swept back, sick and sore. Not ashamed, though. Not enough presence for that.
"...Didn't want...to...hurt...you..." A low whimper, barely audible. "Made a...mistake...."
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He calls Herbert in and sends him for some rope. When Herbert returns with the rope, he helps Georg to tie Alfred's wrists to the bed posts. Just to hold him there, for the time being. While he recovers.
"Try to sleep, now."
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He doesn't struggle much when tied - the hand that Georg binds twitches but does not pull away,.and the one Herbert binds instinctually reaches out, briefly, gently grasping at his lover's hand before falling back against the mattress.
He hisses weakly at Georg's suggestion, eyelids fluttering, then shutting as he goes still. He drifts off almost immediately...off into confusing, troubling dreams.
In his sleep, tears trickle from the corners of his eyes.