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There have always been plenty of things on Trevor Belmont’s list of things that he is worried about.

Vampires, monsters, angry villagers, angry clergy, angry prostitutes, running out of alcohol, starving to death: all of these have a place on that list, and rightfully so.

But Trevor Belmont also has a list of things he is scared of. It’s a shorter list, but it has gotten much longer in the past month or two.

A couple of months ago, it was largely limited to things like being crippled and unable to fight. But lately it has expanded to include all sorts of things that he had never expected. Failing in their mission to stop Dracula. Watching Alucard’s father rip him to pieces and not being able to help. Letting down the Belmont family legacy. And of course, Not being able to keep Sypha safe.

All too many of those fears have already become reality.

They have failed in their mission to stop Dracula, that’s a big one right off the top.

Being captured by Dracula is perhaps not quite as graphic as watching him kill Alucard, but frankly the only reason it wasn’t on the list is because it never occurred to Trevor that it was even a possible outcome of the fight. And that’s happened, too.

Letting down his family legacy? Sure, sure. It was bound to happen, he thinks when he is feeling bitter. It shouldn’t have even been on the list of fears: it was an inevitability.

And now he is staring into the eyes of yet another fear.

The Forgemaster, Isaac, has mostly been concentrating on Alucard since they were captured. Trevor’s not entirely sure what Isaac’s goal is, torture-wise. Knowing Dracula’s reputation, and what Alucard has told them, the goal might simply be revenge. Considering that last time Alucard went toe-to-toe with Dracula he received a beating so severe he took a year-long nap to recover, Dracula may simply be drawing out the pain he intends to deal out to his son for opposing him.

Trevor would dearly like to dismiss Alucard’s suffering on the basis of him being a truly world class prick. But he saw him fight Dracula, and if he is being honest with himself he admires Alucard’s bravery too much to truly dislike him (however much it pains him to admit it.

In any event, Alucard is in the same room as him and Sypha, and since Trevor is neither blind nor deaf, it is impossible not to observe Isaac at work on their companion. Alucard is brave, and he is resilient—far more resilient than a human—but he is not immune to pain, nor hunger, nor thirst. But if simply torturing Alucard is the goal, Trevor thinks, it would be most efficient to focus on him or Sypha instead. The pain and guilt in Alucard’s eyes when the violence spills over to one of them is impossible to miss.

And Isaac clearly knows how to use each of those weaknesses like a virtuoso playing a violin. The world’s shittiest violin.

He has seen Isaac’s eyes, and there is neither sympathy nor pity in them.

He has heard Alucard’s rough breaths as he holds his broken ribs late at night when he thinks they are asleep.

He knows that Alucard may be strong, but Isaac is patient, and (worse) creative, and he knows who will break first.

They have Trevor and Sypha locked in cages against one wall, far apart enough that they can barely reach each other through the bars. Alucard is restrained against the other wall with heavier silver shackles, clearly intended to account for vampiric strength. They figured out quickly that the room, the cages, and Alucard’s restraints have all been heavily enchanted to dampen any magic they might try to do.

The memory of Sypha’s face, painted purple and green with bruises, crumpling when her magic proved useless torments him at night (which is to say, when they get tired and sleep, since the room has no windows and is lit with torchlight constantly).

Trevor thinks he might be at the point of going mad with frustration.

He has bruises of his own, from when he smashed his body against the cage walls. He tells himself, told Sypha and Alucard, that he was simply looking for weaknesses in the steel bars. But if he is being honest, he was panicking because his skills are useless here and he cannot protect either of his friends. That was a week ago, when they first started to torture Alucard.

He is increasingly worried by the looks that Isaac has been shooting him and Sypha when he comes to torment Alucard.

It is a speculative look, a predatory look. It is a look that tells him that Isaac is planning. And that cannot be a good thing, whatever it may mean.

---------------

He is entirely convinced that Isaac does not derive a single shred of pleasure when he beats Trevor the next time he comes to visit.

Sadists may do it for the pleasure, and Isaac is no mere sadist.

He is a principled man, which makes him so much more dangerous and makes the entire situation so much worse.

Trevor is not in a particularly good position to observe, hands bound behind his back and face pushed into the stone floor, but he is convinced that Isaac does not break eye contact with Alucard the entire time.

There’s not big finale to the beating. Isaac eventually simply stops, huffs several breaths, kicks Trevor in the side, huffs what might be a laugh at his noise of pain, and declares to Alucard, “Next time I will fuck the woman.” Trevor feels his blood run cold at the announcement, struggles to get his shaking legs under him so he can attack Isaac, can do something. But before he can do anything the Forgemaster backhands him, kicks him back to the floor, and he can do nothing but lie there, gasping, until the attendant night creatures grab him.

When it is over, when the night creatures have thrown him back into his cage, Sypha looks at him with wide, terrified eyes. The look makes Trevor’s chest ache, makes him clench his useless, weak hands against the floor, makes him grit his teeth so hard his jaw hurts.

Alucard is also staring at him, gold eyes glittering in the torchlight.

“Are you…” he begins, before Trevor snarls out, “Don’t. Ask.”

Sypha does not try to speak, but once he has pulled his shirt back into place and splashed some water on his face she reaches her hand out through the bars of her cage.

Trevor hesitates for a moment and then settles in the corner closest to her, leans his head against the cold metal, and reaches out to take her hand. She squeezes firmly and settles into her own corner. And Trevor won’t admit it, but as they sit in the shadows and wait, it helps.

----------------------------

Alucard still seems like he wants to talk about what happened, but before he gets the chance night creatures come and drag him away. They yell at the creatures as Alucard is carried out of the room, of course they do, but they could equally be yelling at a brick wall for all the difference it makes.

Once the door slams shut, Trevor lets himself slump back against the bars of the cell.

This is a nightmare.

Alucard is gone with no indication when (if, but Trevor can’t let doubt win) he’ll be brought back. He can feel that another one of his fears, Not being able to keep Sypha safe, is going to come true, and the pressure of it is like an anvil on his chest. The feeling of helplessness is killing him.

So he has to do the thing he is worst at: use his words.

“Sypha, are you okay?”

Sypha is back in the corner closest to him, sitting with her knees drawn up and her arms around them.

“Yes.”

If that is true, Trevor will eat his Morningstar Whip.

“I wanted to check, because of what Isaac said.”

“It is fine.”

“It sure doesn’t sound fine.”

“I don’t have a way to get out, so I am fine. Being fine is the only option.” A slight pause, and then Sypha adds in a whisper that he’s not sure he’s supposed to hear, “I haven’t been…raped…before.”

And no, being fine is far from the only option, but that’s not really the words that catch his attention.

“But you have had sex before, right?"

Sypha doesn’t respond, doesn’t move, and a trickle of horror begins to pool in Trevor’s stomach.

“Sypha?”

“I’ve read plenty about it. I understand how it works.”

Oh no.

“So you…haven’t.”

“No, Trevor Belmont, I haven’t.” Sypha won’t look at him, is staring determinedly at the torch across the room from them. Her voice is painfully monotone. “It doesn’t really matter. Being a Speaker is dangerous. I always knew it might happen.”

Christ, this just keeps getting better and better. He can’t keep himself safe, can’t keep Alucard safe, and now Sypha’s first time is going to be with that psychopath.

Trevor can’t help but reach up and bury his fingers in his hair and stare up at the ceiling. He would try to collect his thoughts, but there really aren’t any. It is only feeling that he finds: sorrow and anger and dread of having to watch.

He can’t help it: he punches the steel bars of the cage. His knuckles don’t split but it is still exquisitely painful. Sypha startles just a little, and guilt twinges in his gut.

“It—it really does, though. Matter, I mean. It’s supposed to be nice, your first time. It’s supposed to make you feel good.”

Sypha still won’t look at him.

“Well, unless you have a plan to get us out of here, it looks like it won’t be.”

It is all he can do to fight back the rage that wells up in his chest, his throat, that makes his shoulders shake. He knows the world is full of injustice, has made an artform of ignoring it, but there are sometimes when he simply cannot pretend.

“I—I don’t. Have a plan, I mean. I’m sorry. I just…You deserve better. I want your first time to be good. I don’t want it to be…this.”

Sypha reaches a hand through the bars, and he takes it in his own. She finally looks at him, eyes a little watery, and manages a shaky grin.

“Are you telling me you’d do a better job?”

It startles a laugh out of him, and he sees the dimple in her cheek curve into life.

“I flatter myself I could. I’m confident a dead badger could do a better job in bed than that shitlord, and I’m at least alive.”

Sypha laughs in turn.

“Is that so, Trevor Belmont? And how do you envision your breathtaking lovemaking going?”

He knows what she is doing. She doesn’t want to think about what is to come, wants to joke with him instead to diffuse what she is feeling. But it gives him a faint inkling of an idea, something that might help. Just maybe.

“Well, for one, I wouldn’t seduce you in a dungeon.”

“Already an improvement over the techniques of others.”

“I would seduce you at an inn. A really fine inn, one of the ones with feather beds and musicians and wine instead of ale.”

Sypha grins at him. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a romantic! Keep talking.”

“We would get the finest room there, one with a big feather bed. I might even take a bath for the occasion.” Sypha mock-gasps in shock. “Yes, I know, just for you. I’d want it to be perfect, and if I have to smell like soap then so be it. It would be summer, and we would eat dinner together, drink just enough wine. We would have all the windows open, and candles for light.”

Sypha settles a little, and stares into the distance, imagining.

“Would we have cake as well?”

“Yes, some honey cake for each of us. We would retire a little early in the night, early enough that everyone in the inn would chuckle and nudge each other because they’d know what we were up to.”

A quick pout. “I’m not sure I’d like them laughing at me.”

“Oh no, they wouldn’t be laughing. They’d all be envious of me, taking someone as pretty as you upstairs.”

Sypha’s face abruptly goes red, and her hand tenses in his before it relaxes again.

“We would get to the room, with its fresh sheets and the summer air, and I would kiss you.”

“You would?”

“Yes. I would kiss you softly, and then, if you wanted, hard. I would run my fingers through your hair.”

“I don’t have much hair.”

“That’ll just make it easy. We’d kiss like that, and I would run my hands along your side. Maybe I’d kiss your neck.”

And it shouldn’t be getting him, but just talking about kissing Sypha, telling her how he’d like to go about it, is enough to make a little heat pool in his belly. Sypha releases his hand and rustles in her corner as she adjusts herself to better observe him.

“And that is it? That’s sex?” she teases, looking over.

Trevor can’t help the blush that spreads across his cheeks.

“Well, no, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to keep going.”

Sypha blushes a little too and says, softly, “If you would like to.”

“Well, we’d kiss for a while, and then I would take off that Speaker robe of yours. I’d undo the clasp at your neck, and pull it off your shoulders, and I’d let my hands trail down your arms as I take it off you. And then I’d kiss you some more, and then take off your under-dress. I’d stand behind you and untie it for you, and let you pull it off yourself. And as you did, I’d watch.”

Christ, I’m getting hard just from thinking about how she’d look.

Sypha hums and readjusts herself again.

“Should I keep going?”

“Yes,” she replies, a little bit breathlessly.

Trevor has a suspicion he’s not the only one feeling hot and bothered.

“Once your clothes were off, I’d take off mine, too. And then I would look at you, all of you. I’d run my fingers along your arms and up your neck and over your shoulders and down your legs. I’d kiss you as I went, until I’d kissed every inch of you.”

What can only be a moan escapes Sypha, and she throws her hand over her mouth as her cheeks go red once again.

“Sorry,” she says, looking embarrassed.

“No,” Trevor says, valiantly ignoring his cock straining against his trousers. “No, it’s okay. I—I’m glad you’re liking this. You can make noises if you want.”

“Please don’t stop.”

Oh fuck. His cock twitches at those words.

“Um…I’d, I’d kiss you all over. And then I’d probably reach up and grab your…um…your breasts. Shit. Not grab. Hold? Yeah, I’d hold your breasts, and kiss you again on the lips. And I’d pick you up, and I would carry you to the bed.”

And he cannot help but notice Sypha shift yet again, in a way that rubs her legs together.

Oh. She…she’s liking this.

“You know, you can…um…touch yourself, if you want. I won’t mind.” The moment it’s out of his mouth, Trevor regrets it. What if he is entirely misreading her movements? What if she is just uncomfortable with this and trying to hide it?

Sypha blushes so deeply that he is frankly surprised the cage doesn’t catch on fire. She looks away, won’t meet his eyes, but then whispers, “You are sure you won’t mind?”

And Christ, this whole situation? Might just kill him.

“No. No! I promise I won’t.”

Sypha raises her shoulders slightly to hide her face with the collar of her robe in embarrassment, but it does not stop her from pulling the hem of her robes up and reaching under it with a fiercely suppressed moan.

And he aches, literally and figuratively, to reach for the laces of his breeches as well, to pull out his cock and touch himself. But this isn’t about him: he won’t make it about him. This is about Sypha. This is about Sypha, and he is going to do whatever he can to protect her, to make her feel happy and safe, and if that means the world’s worst case of blue balls, then so be it.

“I’d pick you up and carry you to the bed, and as I was carrying you I’d pull you against me, so I could feel your breasts against me. And I’d press your hips against me, so you could rub against me if you wanted. When we got to the bed, I’d set you down, but I wouldn’t want to. I’d want you against me still, I’d want to feel your skin against mine.”

“And then you’d fuck me?” Sypha asks, wrist moving rhythmically in the folds of her robe. Trevor is glad she has the robe to keep her warm in this frigid room, but fuck, what wouldn’t he give to be able to see her touching herself right now?

“No.”

“No?” She pauses and looks up at him, seems like she is on the cusp of pulling her hand away from where it was busy.

“No, I’d kiss you again. I’d be, I’d be hard at that point, but I wouldn’t want to hurry it. I’d set you down on the bed, but I’d pull you against me again. I’d move against you, and you could do the same against me. And I’d run my hand from your shoulder to your breast to your hip to your thigh. I wouldn’t be able to believe my luck, I wouldn’t be able to believe this was the scholarly Sypha we all know, all wanton and naked and beautiful in front of me. It would feel like blasphemy to touch you, and I’d do it anyway.”

Sypha moans again, hand moving more quickly under her robes, and it’s Trevor’s turn to shift to try to give his cock more room in his breeches. He’s not entirely sure if he’s ever been this hard before.

With visible effort, Sypha looks over at him, and raises an eyebrow at his tented trousers.

“You can touch yourself too, you know. I don’t mind either.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Trevor is lost, and he knows it.

A moment of fumbling and his cock is free and in his hand. The cold air alleviates the worst of his need, but Christ he feels as sensitive as when he was a teen.

“After a while, I’d stop. I’d put my hands on your shoulders, and if you’d let me I’d push you back into the bed. And I’d climb up after you. I’d kiss down the front of you, over your breasts and down your belly, until I reached your…your, um, seat of pleasure.”

“My what?”

“Your, um, cunt.”

“Oh. Well, why not just say ‘cunt’ then?”

Trevor would be blushing if his blood wasn’t all occupied elsewhere.

“Okay, your cunt. I’d kiss down the front of you until I reached your cunt. And I’d be able to smell you, and I’d want to know what you tasted like, more than I’d ever wanted anything before. So I’d lick into you, you’d taste so good on my tongue—” A quiet moan from Sypha, that Trevor can’t help but follow with a groan of his own. “—And I’d keep licking you, up in your cunt and over your pearl, until you were ready to beg me to fuck you, until you were begging me not to stop.”

God, he can almost imagine the taste of Sypha right now. Sweet and musty and heavy on his tongue. His cock twitches in his hand.

“And when I’d be certain that I was going to come just from the taste of you, I’d stop. I’d climb up and kiss you, so you could taste yourself on my lips and tongue, and then, if you wanted, I’d use my fingers. I’d start with one, but you’d be so wet for me that I’d switch to two soon after. I’d want to make sure you were comfortable, that you were ready, if you wanted my cock.”

Sypha’s head is tilted back, her graceful neck and collar bone exposed. She looks wanton, a little strung out, cheeks flushed and eyelids fluttering as her hand works under her robes. It might be the sexiest thing Trevor’s ever seen.

“And if you did, I’d ease my fingers out and lick them clean, just to capture a little more of the taste of you. You’d stay on your back so I could do the hard work, just for your first time. I’d already be thinking about how I’d fuck you a second time, if you wanted, just so you could be on top or on your knees. But for your first time, you’d stay on your back. I’d pull your hips up and slip inside of your cunt.”

The hand he has on his cock is simultaneously too much stimulation and not enough. He can imagine just how good Sypha would feel around him, glances over at her to discover that she has hiked her robes even higher. She is breathing in gentle gasps.

“It would be the best feeling in the world, being inside you. I’d pause, just to look down and see myself in you. Christ. As I began to work in you, I’d watch a little, just to see what my cock looked like pulling out of you and pushing back in. It’d be the best thing in the world, my hands on your hips, your cunt around my cock. I’d almost come then and there, just from the feeling.”

Sypha’s face looks a little desperate now. From this angle he can see that she has two fingers inside herself. She opens her eyes and looks over at him, pupils dilated and gaze unfocused.

“Don’t stop. Please, Trevor.”

“I wouldn’t. I’d start slow, let you guide me and show me what felt good, and as you increased the pace I’d be as hard as iron. I’d bring your hand down so you could play with yourself as we fucked. I’d rock against you, bury myself in you.”

He’s getting close; he can feel the pressure building up. He fights it down fiercely. Not yet.

“And when you came, when I felt you pulsing around my cock, I’d fuck you through it.”

Sypha gasps without warning, arching up and letting out a moan that, quite frankly, Trevor would describe as obscene.

More, please!

Trevor can’t help the answering groan that escapes his mouth.

“I’d be so close. I’d fuck you a little longer, a little faster. And if you were worried about a baby, I’d pull out right before, so you wouldn’t have to worry. Or if you had herbs for it, or didn’t mind…”

Yes!

“…I’d pull you close and push my cock deep inside, and spill inside you until nothing was left.”

Sypha gasps again, hand moving rapidly under her robes, and then comes with a muffled cry, followed by a heavy moan.

It’s too much. The sight of Sypha looking debauched, the sound of her ragged breaths: it’s all too much. Trevor can’t help himself any further. Several quick pulls, and he is coming into his fist, panting breaths and biting back a moan of his own.

They sit like that for several moments, serene in the flickering torch light, before Sypha chuckles. It takes him by surprise, and before he can think he finds himself chuckling as well. Their laughter grows and grows in the echoing dark.

“That certainly was a compelling audition, Trevor Belmont.” Sypha grins at him, and reaches out through the cell bars.

Trevor hastily tucks himself away and wipes his hand on his trousers (already ruined after the fight and a week in a dungeon but now definitely in need of replacement) and reaches through the bars with an apology on his tongue for not being able to clean himself better.

“No, no, that was—” Sypha huffs a laugh, but her eyes lose focus briefly. “—that was exactly how I had hoped it would be. If it was real, I mean.”

Something makes Trevor’s heart contract at the lazy grin on Sypha’s face. Tenderness, he realizes after a moment. He wants to see this look on Sypha’s face again. He wants to hold her against him, loose-limbed and happy.

“Well, if we get out of here and you ever want the full production, you just let me know.” He grins at her, tries to keep his tone of voice casual.

Sypha is still smiling, but a serious look comes into her eyes.

When we get out of here, you had better find a fine inn with musicians and wine.”

Oh. Oh.

He can barely contain the excitement that runs through him at the thought, cell bars and Dracula be damned.

----------------------------

Sounds of movement outside the door bring him back to reality.

“Shit.”

He forces himself to his feet, ignoring the ache in his shoulders and his ribs from the beating. He knows it is useless, knows that there is nothing he can do to stop what is coming from inside his cage. But perhaps he can make Isaac angry enough that he directs the torture at him instead of Sypha. Pissing people off is one of his primary skillsets, after all.

The dungeon door bursts inward, but instead of Isaac, Alucard is standing there. Gore is spattered down his neck and across the front of his shirt, and without a word he tosses a head into the room.

It is a familiar head, marked with scars and tattoos.

Isaac.

There’s no body in sight to accompany the head.

Alucard strides across the room and pulls out a key. He unlocks Sypha’s cage first, and then Trevor’s.

“Care to tell us what the fuck is going on?”

Alucard looks at Trevor, eyes filled with triumph and rage, and pulls out a familiar whip and sword.

“He made a mistake and gave me an opening.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Trevor sees Sypha grin. It is a fierce, feral look, and affection blooms through his chest at the sight.

Trevor grabs the weapons and stashes them on his belt.

“Ready to go kill Dracula?”

“I was born ready,” Trevor replies, certainty burning through him. “And I have an appointment at an inn that I don’t want to miss.”