Jonathan stared at the ceiling above him. He was lying inside the coffin, which for once had been left open for him.
"I highly doubt anymore is going to come in here anymore," His capture had said, before leaving him alone again. "Now that they've searched the cabin."
He'd been placed under the bed for that search, the lid of the coffin closing over him, unable to move. He'd heard the people coming in, wanted to scream to them, wanted to cry, I'm here, let me out, please!
Let me back into the world.
He'd wanted to, but he hadn't even tried. It wasn't an option, returning back to the world. If he had been found and released, he'd have attacked his saviors. His fangs would have come out and sunk into their flesh.
He had been able to smell them, smell them so well. He'd wanted them. He would have taken them if he'd been freed. So he hadn't even tried.
After the cabin had grown silent again, and the smell disappeared, his capture had pulled the coffin out and let him out. Picked him up and placed him on the bed.
"It wouldn’t hurt so much," He'd whispered into his ear. "If you weren't so hungry. Let me give it to you, Johnny Blue-eyes."
Jonathan had shaken his head.
"Stubborn, stubborn child," His capture had clicked his tongue, sounding amused and oddly fond. And then he'd left Jonathan alone again.
A single drop landed inside of the coffin, next to Jonathan's head. He breathed in, breathed out.
He could see the stain growing on the wood above his head. It had started about an hour ago, with a single spot appearing out of the blue. He'd stared at it, smelled it, groaned out for it. He wanted it.
(Wanted it, wanted it, wanted it so badly.)
It had taken a few moments, and then another spot had appeared. And then another, and then another after that.
Now the stain was larger than his eyes could follow, drip-drip-dropping, but only the edge lays right in front of his face. The drops fell on his chest, on his legs, on his feet, on his arms and hands, in his hair. But he couldn't reach any of those drops, he's tied in place and unable to move, and no matter how much he struggled, he couldn't get away from the stakes thrust into his flesh, keeping him pinned in place.
He'd heard the sound of death, a few nights ago. A gasping and groaning and gurgling. It was the most horrific sound he'd ever heard, worse than the sound of the stake being ripped from his chest in the monastery.
"Hurts, no?" His capture had whispered, caressing his hair back as he convulsed on the stone floor, in a room that still smelled of Mina. "Don't ever disobey me again and you won't have to feel it again. Sounds like a plan, love?"
It hadn't, but he was too weak to move, too weak to fight when his capture had carried him down to the chapel and settled him on his lap to watch as the wolves came and killed all the nuns.
One by one, until Mina was all that was left. She'd died slower then the rest, not by the wolves but by the hands of their master instead. He'd sunk his fangs into her, and his eyes hadn't left Jonathan as he drained her dry.
After the sounds of death had stopped, Jonathan's capture had come into the cabin, wiping his mouth, and Jonathan had been able to smell it in the air.
"There we are," His capture had sighed, settling down on his knees next to him, "Want some?"
He'd managed to say no, and as he lay in the coffin, watching the stain grow above his head, he had no idea how he done so. And more- why he had done so. All he wanted was a taste. For just a drop to fall into his mouth. Just one drop…
"You think you know pleasure, don’t you, my love?" The creature had whispered into his ear once, while playing with his hair. "You think you knew it. With your blond goddess. You don't, truly. You'll see, I'll show you."
He didn't want to see, he didn't want to have it shown to him. Except he did, didn't he? He wanted this.
Jonathan's eyes flickered to the side, watching the little puddle growing next to his head. Why did it have to land so close to him? He could smell it, he could almost taste it-but it was so far away.
He shivered at the smell, closing his eyes.
And then opened them again in alarm when he heard the door hinges creak.
There he was. Standing at the doorway, hand resting on the wall, watching Jonathan closely.
"Wh-" Jonathan blinked, shaking his head. He tried to think, to clear his head, but it was absolutely impossible. How could he, when his capture was standing there, his whole body covered in the liquid and absolutely nothing else.
"Johnny, love," Dracula sighed and closed the door behind them. "That's it. They're all dead. How wonderful."
Jonathan kept on shaking his head. No. This wasn't fair, how could he resist like this?
"We should be reaching England in a few hours," Dracula continued, walking into the room. He looked down at Jonathan, and the only part of his face not covered in the liquid were his two red-and-black eyes.
He was beautiful.
No, he hadn't just thought that. He hadn't. No, no, no.
"Johnny?" Dracula was amused as he settled down on the floor next to Jonathan's coffin. "Are you all right there?"
"Why are you doing this?" Jonathan blurted out. "Why won't you just leave me alone?"
"Bloody hell, love, what would be the fun in that?" Dracula raised an eyebrow and leaned down next to Jonathan, so their lips are inches away from each other. "Go on then."
Jonathan closed his eyes, and then ducked forward, his lips crashing into Dracula's.
His lips full of blood.