Chapter Text
Jonathan awoke to the feeling of something wet dripping upon his cheek and sliding down the side of his neck into his collar. An odd feeling, indeed.
The agonizing process of crawling from sleep back to awareness was excruciatingly painful. He wasn’t usually a heavy sleeper, but it seemed this time he’d been under for quite awhile. As his eyes slowly drew open, he winced as the dim light blinded him and forced his eyes back closed. He tried to move his limbs, but they were dead weight upon him – all sense of feeling lost from misuse. In fact, trying to move any portion of his body proved futile – much to his chagrin.
The only thing he could take note of was the temperature - unearthly cold and wet. Where on earth was he?
He could not fathom exactly where, when or how he had come to be here but he knew he was in trouble. When he tried to recall his last memory, all he drew was a blank. Surely a bad sign? The idea that he had been brought here unwillingly and by assailants unknown was a frightening prospect, yet somehow he refrained from losing his wits.
Taking a moment to simply breathe in and out the musty air around him, he forced his eyes back open and took a look around. Wherever he was – it was dark and moldy – beneath him, he felt what seemed to be dirt. Fresh dirt…? Inside his head, a loud ringing began to go off and hysterically, he wondered if he was perhaps buried underground?
Laughing softly to himself, he lay there helpless and immobile – unable to do a damn thing. Who knew how much time had gone by? Minutes? Hours? Days? What was time when one had no sense of it?
Before long, he realized his eyes had closed and re-opened again, but this time was different…when he looked about him he was no longer in that cold, dark and dank place, but sitting in a chaise lounge chair by an opulent, roaring fireplace in a lavish sitting room. It was a drastic change of scenery and Jonathan could not fathom how he would have gotten here.
He wondered if he had imagined the entire experience in a moment of drunken fatigue? But a cursory look at his body seemed to tell otherwise. He was dreadfully dirty with some unknown muck all over him and he reeked of death! Across the way, he heard a sigh and turning to look up at the interrupter, he beheld the source of all his woes.
Abruptly, it all came rushing back.
His invitation to Transylvania, his encounter with the mysterious Count, the trials and tribulations the foul creature had put him thru and his ill fated escape. This man was Vlad Tepes otherwise known as Count Dracula - his captor and tormentor.
By some demonic means, the old man that had lured him into this God forsaken castle had somehow grown young again! Gone were the age worn wrinkles and other decrepit features now replaced instead by smooth and cold flesh of a 40-something gentleman in his prime. His richly dark hair coiffed to perfection was a sharp contrast to his porcelain skin and his dark (red?) eyes seemed fathomless. He had shed the dated luxurious robes he had initially greeted him in, now replaced with modern English wear that was in vogue. He seemed your typical handsome Englishman except there was nothing typical about this man, no, demon!
Jonathan shivered as those devilish eyes focused their attention on his weak and defenseless body – assessing, always assessing. When the Count spoke next, his accent was a strange mixture of English and his native tongue. Under normal circumstances, he’d call it charming. Though, it pained Jonathan to listen to it for he knew what dark magic the older man’s words could cast upon him. The Count was evil incarnate. Deep down, Jonathan shuddered in revulsion and prayed to God to save his soon-to-be damned soul.
“My dear Jonathan, why so serious?” Came that glib voice as the man drew ever closer, his mere presence instilled fear in the young man despite the intimate setting. The blonde shook under such intense scrutiny and refused to answer, but this did not seem to faze the Count as he continued on, “Cat got your tongue, dearest? Oh, no…that’s not it. It was me. I took it!”
As the creature snickered darkly to himself over his sordid comments, Jonathan had the sudden sinking realization that he – indeed - lacked a tongue. He couldn’t even speak if he wanted to – the fiend had gone and lopped it off!
As hysteria began to set in, he was aware then that he ached all over and further investigation showed that a whole manner of things had been done to his broken body. Broken fingers, cuts and bruises, and bites - everywhere!
As he felt a fainting spell come upon him, he was startled to realize that the Count had invaded his space fully and had placed both of his heavy hands upon his shoulders – stilling any further movement. Like a deer caught in the eyes of a hunter, Jonathan looked on – frozen. He wanted to scream, cry or quite possibly yell but knew he could do neither. He was at the mercy of this horrible monster and a part of him cringed at what the fiend had in store for him next.
How unexpected was it then that instead of violence, he was greeted with something much more diabolical? When the cold lips of the Count collided with his – the sensation didn’t register right away. He was aghast. His kisses were for one person and one person alone – his fair and delicate, Mina. Yet, where was she now? He had not seen nor heard from her for the many months that he had been in captivity and surely, she would have messaged him by now? Despair set in.
As the Count canted his mouth against his, lips devouring and sharp teeth catching on his wounded flesh, Jonathan felt a tear slowly slip down the side of his face. It was as if he were experiencing the kiss of death, itself, and true fear gripped him. He tried to struggle, but every attempt to pull away was thwarted as the Count ravaged his unresisting lips – pulling him deeper into the darkness.
Groaning, he went limp in the older man’s arms and submitted himself to his aggressive mauling. Seemingly pleased with his prey’s submission, the Count’s hands drifted slowly from his shoulders to his sides and then clutched possessively at his hips – caressing – as he shoved his tongue deeper into the blonde’s mouth. Squirming in discomfort, Jonathan tried to move away again but the grip upon him was much too strong. Whimpering in distress, he pushed at the heavy chest before him, but the creature was like a wall – unyielding. It seemed everything he tried against the Count was pointless and the young man could not help but fall deeper into despair at this realization.
At some point, the blonde worried that he would lose air to breathe, but an odd thing occurred to him then. How long had they been kissing for before he realized he had not yet taken a breath?
A sudden chill ran thru him from the base of his spine to his head. As if sensing his prey’s change of demeanor, the Count pulled away from his lips with an obscene squelch to stare down at him in curiosity. In his dirty, pale face - Jonathan’s bright blue eyes stared unseeingly up at him – rage intermingled with fear setting those precious orbs aflame. The monster found them captivating.
“Have you already stolen my soul? Why is it that I have not taken a single breath since you’ve brought me here!?” He cried as he pushed savagely at the man before him with renewed vigor, “What have you done to me, you monster!?”
Chuckling at the young man’s new found bravado, he snatched a slender arm in one of his claws and forcibly dragged him around to the grand old mirror he kept above the fire place. All the while, Jonathan glared menacingly at him with hatred in his eyes – yet when he was shoved before the mirror and forced to observe his figure there – the blonde’s entire body froze in disbelief, his anger seemingly fading.
For, he held no reflection!
While he could make out a faint outline of his body, there was no image there for his eyes to perceive. The unknown had been so much more gentler than the truth. He could not return to his dear Mina like this….his eternal soul had been damned to hell after all. Falling to his knees, Jonathan began to weep heavily into his hands – a sad wailing sound emitting from his tongue-less mouth.
Behind him, the Count stood by observing the scene with thoughtful humor on his face– neither insulting nor consoling the wretched man before him as he broke down.
While the vampire could be cruel and mean, he knew that the dark transition would not be received well by the mortal and abstained from poking more fun at the poor sod's fate. A normal human would try to provide comfort to such a pitiful being, but he could not bring himself to do so for he had not been human for quite some time. Most importantly of all, he had achieved what he had sought out to do: which was to acquire a means to enter modern society. If he should happen upon a new bride in the process - well! Two birds with one stone as the saying goes.
Jonathan Harker was a proud man. A true specimen of peak human potential – intelligent and lovely in his naiveté of the world. In the brief time that they had conversed, Vlad had learned everything that he needed to know about the blonde enigma. Successful, rich and in possession of a pretty bride-to-be waiting for him at home – Mr. Harker had it all.
Yet, there was one miscalculation in his perfect life that he could not account for. He had not counted on his portrait being picked out from a series of partners specifically by the vampire for his vile scheme. For upon beholding his visage in the portraiture, Vlad had wanted him. There was something about those otherworldly eyes and that aristocratic face that made him feel his cold, dead heart beat and his loins set aflame.
When he had played his mind tricks on the blonde and seen the myriad of emotions cross that lovely face - it was like the high one got at the crux of (sexual) release. He felt like a young man again – virile and ready for action - just like the good old days. The excitement was unlike anything he felt in all the years that he had lured strangers to his home. Finally, finally - he had found the perfect fledgling and most importantly of all, the ideal candidate to be his bride.
Moving forward, he brought his clawed hands up to the shoulders of the crying man at his feet and bent down close to his neck. Before him, he could see the blue of the blonde’s veins pulsating thru his pale skin – the subtle scent of fear and something distinctly Jonathan wafting into the air. The mortal’s sweet lifeblood pulsing so close to the surface enticed Vlad ever closer and without any warning, he had attached his mouth to his favorite spot on that well loved neck. The moment that his incisors sank into that soft flesh, both parties let out a gasp – one of pain and the other of pure pleasure. Hands drifting lower, Vlad found himself embracing the now struggling body to him as that familiar warm essence was drawn out – giving warmth temporarily to his eternally cool body.
Bliss, sheer bliss. Every bite was simply divine.
As he gulped down the remainders of the delicious life of Jonathan Harker, he was treated to the beauty of his experiences. His memories – past and present - his very being! It was all so very beautiful. For a long lived creature like Vlad, the life of one simple man seemed so fulfilling. He wished to hold onto that dwindling life for as long as he could and hopefully, for eternity.
As he supped, he watched as the man in his arms deteriorated and his beauty faded. Smooth skin became waxy and thin – the bones protruding grotesquely – and his bright blue eyes lost their bright luster. His fair, flaxen hair became scarce and sores erupted all over his body in a myriad of clusters. No matter how many times Vlad bore witness to such a drastic transformation, he could not bring himself to be repulsed. For even in their death throes, his victims were breathtakingly beautiful in their suffering.
Jonathan Harker was by far his favorite to date. Despite being drained multiple times by Vlad, the young man had resisted all attempts by the Vampire to woo him to his side. Even going so far as to attempt suicide! Such tenacity even on the verge of death was really quite exciting. Though Vlad had selected him for his beauty, initially, he was pleased to see that the young Briton held more grit than all his predecessors.
Withdrawing finally from that bruised neck, he looked down compassionately at the ailing man. With no strength left in his limbs, his head fell limply to the side – a look of sheer agony marring his grotesque features.
“Say, Johnny boy, though I know how stubborn you are – I must ask again…” The Count drifted off as he waited for the mortal to blearily look up at him; listening. “Do you really want your life to end here?”
A long heavy pause fell between the two as if time itself had stopped.
For the Count, however, time was trivial. It held no sway over him. Yet for a mortal, like his dear ol’ Johnny blue eyes, well…time was of the essence. For even now, the blonde’s life slipped away with every minute that dragged on and that unbearable knowing of time wasting into the nothingness sunk into the dying man’s thoughts and was deeply rooted there.
Did Jonathan want to die? The simple answer was an emphatic ‘no’, for no mortal truly wishes to die. Yet, how could he simply give into the whims of this creature? How could he forfeit everything that made him human?
Looking up into the glittering darkness of Dracula’s eyes, Jonathan beheld no humanity there, but a vast emptiness. Despite his growing fear that the darkness there might soon envelop him, the blonde could not help but feel a sense of eerie calm suddenly befall him. Hysteria warns him that these feelings are not his own, but the seductive allure of simply ‘giving in’ is much too strong. Though, he tries his hardest to deny the darkness – he cannot bring himself to fully turn it away.
Soon the darkness morphs into a skeletal specter and Jonathan gasped as the other held a hand out to him as if beckoning. Tired and weary, he could not resist the comfortable stillness of the darkness and sought that emptiness with the eagerness of a ravenous dog.
That night he cast away humanity and inevitably, took death by the hand and agreed to marry him.