Chapter Text
Belmont is the single most reliable form of entertainment on the road. Perhaps this is why Alucard can’t stop himself from pushing and needling him, despite the Speaker magician’s disapproval. It’s a long path to their end goal, and given what awaits him when he makes his final return home, he will take what distractions he can find.
The lowest-hanging fruit is, of course, personal hygiene. It is possible that Belmont has not so much as lain eyes on a bar of soap in a year, if not longer. His clothes, while appearing rich and expensive from a distance, are well-worn and as dirty and smelly as he is himself. Add in the aura of stale beer and a pitiful picture is painted. He wonders idly if Belmont knows what water is for, beyond fighting the unholy hordes of night-creatures that make up the ranks of Dracula’s army.
Unfortunately, the expeditionary prods and pokes at Belmont’s ego are reined in when the Speaker magician turns and gives him that look of clear disapproval. And yes, disappointment.
He would be lying if he were to say that it doesn’t hurt, just a little.
It isn’t as if he expects to make it out of this alive, so why does the good opinion of someone he met only a few days ago affect him like this?
Still, he rises above it to be the better person for the afternoon. And no, he doesn’t miss Belmont’s muttered ‘smug bastard’.
But good behaviour can only last so long. He can’t keep himself from pushing again that evening. The sun is kissing the horizon and the fire is growing brighter and brighter in the gathering darkness. There are a very few birds still calling to each other and before long the night’s chorus has started up.
He doesn’t even think about what he’s saying until it’s too late. He’s already falling into a habit of teasing and pushing for a rise.
“You want to say that again?” Belmont challenges him, heavy eyebrows drawn down, his knuckles white around his spoon.
Where did that scar come from, a disconnected part of Alucard’s mind idly wonders.
“Say what? That it’s a miracle anyone in your family survived to reproduce if you are a typical example of Belmont stock?” he replies smoothly.
Sypha looks up with narrowed eyes. She opens her mouth to reprimand him. There’s the petty bickering, and then there’s cruelty. That had crossed the line.
But Trevor is blind to her disapproval. Anger burns hot inside him. He launches himself at Alucard, forgetting his weapons, everything except his own two fists.
“At least they weren’t fucking monsters!” he manages to reply while smashing a fist at his face.
Thank the heavens for vampiric reflexes. He blocks the wild lunge, catching his fist and twisting quickly to roll them around, landing on top. “The church would disagree.”
“Fuck the church!” His leg hooks around one of Alucard’s own, he braces himself, and throws them both into another roll.
Alucard smells the sharp tang of blood in the air when Belmont stops them. Feels his fangs sharpen, something dark inside him rearing its head.
He pushes it down and Belmont over, forcing his way back to being on top.
“How very imaginative of you.”
Belmont’s breathing is harsh and ragged in his ears. His hands are pinned, but his legs are not.
Alucard wheezes from the force with which his knee drives into his stomach. He pulls back, just an inch, on reflex.
Belmont wrests his hands free and makes another blind attack.
They descend into brawling on the ground like children, kicking up dust and grinding dirt into each other’s face and clothes and hair.
It’s oddly cathartic. No weapons, no tactics, no higher thought. Just instinct and rage and fists.
It comes to an abrupt halt. A hand fists in his hair, uses it to wrench his head away and force him into a better position for attack.
He moans.
It’s bizarre enough that Belmont stops and stares, golden hair still wrapped around his hand.
His own hand leaves Belmont’s shirt in shock. He covers his traitorous mouth.
What is this feeling?
Embarrassment rises up. Even more so when the cocky hunter smirks and gives his hair another tug, using less force this time.
“What’s the matter, vampire? Cat got your tongue?”
“Are you two finished?” the Speaker calls over, exasperation plain in her voice. She’s further away than he’d expected. It would seem that their brawl has carried them a good distance.
He opens his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by another tug on his hair. He glares at Belmont. Sets one hand on his wrist and squeezes . Not hard enough to do any damage, but the silent promise is there.
He lets him go.
“Say one word about this and I will kill you in your sleep, prophecy or no prophecy.”
He smirks in response, cocky and reckless.
Alucard wonders what it would take to wipe that smirk off of his infuriating face.