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As usual, the sound of the door handle turning was Jack's only warning that Van Helsing was barging into his room.
At the sound, he lunged for his dressing-gown draped over the sofa and managed to get it mostly thrown around his bare shoulders before his old professor burst through the door into his hotel room in Varna. "Friend John, I have homework for you!"
Jack blanched for a second, with an instinctive worry that he had somehow forgotten his assignment for the week, before remembering that he hadn't been in school in years. With a huff he turned his back, shoving his arms into his dressing-gown sleeves and wrapping the edges around his bare chest. "Professor, I think the years of you assigning me homework are long over."
"Nonsense!" He heard the grin in Van Helsing's voice, and when he turned back around he saw him standing there with a cheerful grin, holding out a small book. "Just a little assignment for my pet student."
Jack had learned not to blush at anything Van Helsing said, but the word "pet student" always made him feel strangely warm. His teacher had long ago learned that praise could make Jack do nearly anything he wanted, whether it was working long hours into the night doing research assistance, or agreeing to take on extra casework. Jack hated how pliant he became the moment Van Helsing started praising him, and determined that this time he would not budge.
He took the book from the professor and flipped it open to see the blank pages of a journal. "What is this for?"
"Madam Mina's husband no longer writes in his journal," Van Helsing said. He was still smiling, but Jack could read him well enough to see he was worried. "And of course Madam Mina is not either. But we must have records, for our use and for posterity. So it is your duty, friend John, to write."
"You know I hate writing."
"We must all suffer for the cause," Van Helsing said, his eyes still bright.
"Why don't you do it? Or go badger Quincey or Arthur about it!" Jack was surprised at the sharp edge in his own voice.
Van Helsing laid his hand on Jack's shoulder, and Jack was keenly aware at how thin the fabric of his dressing gown was. "Friend John, it is hard enough to speak English without having to pen it. I would only write if it were the gravest emergency, you see? Morris Quincey is too distracted to record, and Lord Arthur has not the scientist's eye we need. But you, John, you record every detail. It is as if your mind is a camera— click, click! and you take photos of everything you see. A wonderful talent!"
The excuses were flimsy, but the praise was genuine enough, and Van Helsing's big blue eyes were so pleading that Jack started to feel bad about being petulant. What else did he have to do, anyway, when he was already being driven to madness by all this tedious waiting? Might as well keep his hands busy.
With a heavy sigh, he muttered, "Very well," and then steeled himself against smiling when he saw Van Helsing's expression light up.
"Good boy! Always such an obedient student."
Obedient, Jack thought, plopping down at his desk and grabbing a pen. He hated the glow he felt in his chest at the word.
He spread out the first page of the journal, then hovered the pen over it, keenly aware of the professor standing right behind his chair. "Perhaps a bit of space would be an order?" Jack said, not caring that his irritation was plain.
"Forgive me!" the professor said, and took a single step back. It didn't help in the slightest, but Jack sighed and tried to focus on scratching out words. He wrote in shaky script, "Diary of Dr. John Seward, 25th October."
Van Helsing was looking over his shoulder again, and made a soft tutting sound.
"What is it?" Jack snapped.
"Your handwriting is sad."
Jack looked down at the words, feeling his face heat up, though with embarrassment or annoyance or both, he couldn't say. "What do you mean, sad?"
"Spidery, like little cobwebs strewn across the page."
"Well, this is all you're getting," he said, huffily leaning back over the page.
Van Helsing was standing right behind him again, his belly pressed up against the back of Jack's chair, and Jack suddenly felt tense.
"Friend John, have you considered that you might be left-handed?"
Jack looked down at the pen gripped in his right hand. "Nobody was left-handed at my school," he said a bit curtly. "The teacher would smack our knuckles if she ever caught us using it."
"Perhaps if you try it will help you," Van Helsing said, and reached down, one hand gliding over Jack's left hand and the other plucking the pen out of his right. The touch sent all Jack's nerves tingling, and he grew rigid as the professor tucked the pen into Jack's left hand and leaned down, pressing his palm against the top of his hand to guide the movement.
Jack was trembling, and he willed himself to stop, though the command only took effect in his left hand, where the professor's large palm provided a comforting pressure. Van Helsing's sideburns were brushing against his own as he leaned down, and his breath smelled of sweet cigar smoke.
Jack had to admit, the pen did feel a bit more natural in his left hand, especially with Van Helsing's palm steadying him. He scratched some experimental letters, writing his name. It was harder to get ink out of the pen this way because the left-handed motion pushed the pen instead of pulling it, but it still felt more instinctive than doing it right handed.
Van Helsing lifted his palm and pulled away, leaving Jack's cheek cold, and then placed both hands on his shoulders, peering over his head as Jack wrote his own name a few times.
"It still looks sad," Van Helsing pronounced.
Jack blushed again, then rallied with a sarcastic, "I apologize for failing my homework, professor."
Van Helsing laughed, and clapped him on the shoulders boisterously, which made Jack even more annoyed and flustered. "Practice is the key, my student. Practice, practice!"
He felt Van Helsing starting to move away, leaving him with this miserable chore, and he sputtered out before he could think better of it, "It helped when your hand was guiding me."
His words hung in the air, and he felt tension grow thick. The rational part of his brain was justifying his words, reassuring him that indeed, his hand had been steadier when Van Helsing's guided it, and he was only learning after all, and it was merely in the interest of good record-keeping that he should make such a request.
He tried not to think about what the non-rational part of his brain was telling him.
Van Helsing's hands were back on his shoulders now, lightly touching. "If it would help…" His voice was tense, hesitant.
"It would," Jack said shortly. Of course it would— that's why he was asking.
Once more, Van Helsing leaned down, his left hand trailing down Jack's arm. Jack's heart began to speed up as that broad palm glided along the thin fabric, finally settling on top of his hand, the calloused texture a sharp contrast to his smooth, slender fingers. Jack was overshadowed by his large shoulders.
His hand was steady, but now the rest of him was trembling even more. He hoped Van Helsing couldn't feel it, though that was probably a vain hope considering that the professor's arm was rested on him, and his right hand gently squeezed his shoulder, and that his cheek was now lightly brushing Jack's, sending a wave of fire up the side of his face. He felt a sudden desire to turn his head toward Van Helsing, just turn and see what would happen, and he felt his neck muscles flexing to do so.
"The writing, friend John?" Van Helsing's voice, so close to his own mouth, startled him, and he instinctively bent his head, so the professor's cheek was against his ear now.
"Of course," he said in a blustery voice, and began to scratch the words, his hands moving under the professor's touch as he wrote:
How I miss my phonograph! To write diary with a pen is irksome to me; but Van Helsing says I must.
Van Helsing's voice, right at his ear, made him stop short. The professor spoke as if to joke, but the softness of his tone rumbled in Jack's ear. "And you always obey your professor, yes?"
Jack dropped the pen. His hand still enveloped in Van Helsing's, he slowly began turning his head, feeling their skin touch. His heart was pounding so hard he almost felt sick.
Their noses bumped, and Jack felt Van Helsing's lips just barely brushing his own, rough against smooth. "Always," he whispered.
Van Helsing's eyes were wide, his body tense, but Jack was ignoring the alarm bells ringing in his head and focusing only on the delicious tingling on his lips as they breathed the same breath and the painful anticipation of all his fantasies rushed toward him, screaming in his mind that now was the moment, now he could finally have him—
"John—" Van Helsing breathed, and Jack didn't let himself decipher the emotion behind the word. He kissed him hard, throwing all the pent-up passion and longing and emotion into it, twisting in his chair and jumping to his feet, throwing his hands around the professor's neck and pulling his face against his.
Van Helsing was kissing him just as hard back, but also pushing him away with his hand, as if he was warring with himself. But Jack couldn't bear to break apart their lips, not when he had longed for this for so many years, not when they had finally dared to act on what had been unspoken between them these past months. He grabbed the lapels of Van Helsing's waistcoat, pulling the professor toward him so that his bulky body pinned Jack against the desk, trying to draw him closer so he'd lose his balance and fall on top of him. He wanted to feel his weight press him down on the desk— oh, there were so many things he wanted to do on this desk…
Van Helsing's hand was on his chest where his dressing-gown was parted, pressing with a gentle but unassailable force, and in a moment Jack was pushed away with a rush of cold air over his lips. He had to stifle a whimper, the pain of that parting was so sharp, and when he saw the tortured look on Van Helsing's face, it hurt all the more.
"I am sorry." Van Helsing's voice cracked.
"No," Jack said, moving to kiss him again, "please don't be sorry—"
Van Helsing's hand stopped him again, his callused fingers burning against Jack's bare skin. "I am sorry, John, I cannot."
"Why?" His own voice sounded small and pathetic to his ears, and both his hands clutched Van Helsing's waistcoat, not allowing him to pull away.
Van Helsing's eyes were full of yearning as he whispered, "John, I am married."
Jack felt a spike of anger in his chest, his face heating up. As if half the men in London don't have a lover on the side, he thought bitterly, though he didn't dare say it out loud. Still, he suspected Van Helsing read his thoughts, because the professor sighed, looking so weary and old and conflicted that Jack almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Jack clenched Van Helsing's coat tighter, unable to meet his eyes as he snapped, "If you're so committed to the sacrament of matrimony, perhaps you should consider not accosting your student in his private room when he's in a state of undress."
"John," Van Helsing said, barely audible, and he heard how much his words had hurt. Good. He wanted them to. But he still didn't dare look at Van Helsing's face, and still he couldn't bring himself to unclench his fists from the professor's coat.
"That is why I am sorry," Van Helsing said, his voice broken. "I am weak, and I am foolish, and I have no excuse. That is why I beg your forgiveness."
"Well, you don't have it," Jack said, trembling again. "I'll never forgive you for the effect you have on me. I'll never forgive you for giving me hope, for making me think—" He was almost crying now, and the force of his emotion finally gave him strength to look up at Van Helsing, his eyes wide in pain. "What am I to you, a plaything?"
"Dear God!" Van Helsing gasped, and threw his arms around Jack, pulling him into a tight embrace. Jack's face smashed into his lapel, breathing in that scent that was so familiar, so comforting… and yet he was furious, his hands still balled into fists, working up every ounce of energy to keep from sobbing.
"It is not just my beliefs, my convictions," Van Helsing said, his voice near Jack's ear. "The success of our mission depends on us to have Heaven on our side. Adultery is against one of the Ten Commandments, a cardinal sin. How can I make myself an enemy of the Almighty when all our fates depend on Him?"
"I daresay that Our Father in Heaven has more pressing matters to worry about than who you're kissing," Jack said, his voice muffled by Van Helsing's clothes.
"I do not ask you to understand," Van Helsing said, still holding him tight. "But I must do what I see fit. I must avoid temptation."
Jack struggled, pushing against his chest, and Van Helsing released his arms. Jack laughed bitterly, not caring that the noise made Van Helsing grow pale. "Ah, so I'm just a temptress, then? Seducing you? A siren luring you to the rocks?"
"Please, friend John—"
Jack didn't know whether he was driven by anger or desperation, but he wrenched on the professor's lapels and kissed him again, kissing as if to devour, trying to steal every last ounce of warmth and pleasure from his lips before they must part forever. Van Helsing would be strong enough to push him off, but he didn't, letting Jack kiss and bite and lick and jostle his unresisting mouth. Jack kept his eyes closed at first, then opened them, staring up at Van Helsing, daring him to stop him, daring him to respond, daring him to give in. It was thrilling, feeling this power that he held over the older man, feeling that perhaps indeed he was a siren, except that both of them would be dashed to the rocks if he had his way. But what did he care, anyway? What did he care about any of that?
He didn't know how long he kissed Van Helsing's motionless mouth, but at last Jack pulled back, panting, still clutching his coat. Van Helsing's lips were ruddy and swollen, and slightly parted, making Jack long to take them again.
But then Van Helsing whispered, "Oh, John," and the palpable disappointment in his voice sent Jack crashing back to earth.
He let go of Van Helsing's coat and took a stumbling step back, catching himself on the desk.
He tried to rally, tried to summon the anger he'd felt earlier, but now he only felt small, and childish, and ashamed. It was all he could do not to cower before his old professor, drowning in the blood pumping through his face.
"I— I'm sorry," he stuttered.
Van Helsing's voice was quiet and soothing, which somehow made it all worse. "I must repeat, friend John: it is not you who needs forgiveness, but I."
Jack looked away, face burning, lips still tingling, unable to stop the tears forcing their way out of the corners of his eyes. "Then I— I forgive you." He gasped a breath. "Please go."
Van Helsing hesitated.
"Please," Jack said, the word broken with a sob.
The professor raised his hand as if to touch Jack's arm, but Jack flinched away. Van Helsing immediately took a step back, and though Jack couldn't meet his eyes, he felt the conflicting feelings radiating from him.
Then Van Helsing turned away and left. The door clicked closed.
Jack sat down hard in his chair, dropped his head onto his crossed arms and sobbed. Every muscle in his body was trembling, and he felt like someone had grabbed his heart in a fist and was clenching it with every beat.
He didn't cry long, and the trembling drained out of him, leaving him feeling as if his body were made of jelly, and he laid with his head on his desk like that for a long time. The fist was still there in his chest, but it was duller than before. It was a familiar pain.
At last, he straightened. He cleaned his glasses and set them firmly on his nose. He cracked his neck and cleared his throat.
Then he picked up the pen in his left hand and began to write.
Regardless of his feelings, Professor Van Helsing had given him homework.
And he was a good student, so he would obey.
~~~