Trevante was the last of his New Orleans family to pass away. He was ninety-eight years old. He didn't have much family and asked for Robert to sit with him at his deathbed. His younger sister sat on the other side of the bed, but Trevante held Robert's hand, not hers.
"Would you like something to drink? Extra blankets? Anything?" Robert asked him and got a weak smile back, a slow head shake. It was too difficult for Trevante to talk. His sister checked her phone as Robert gently stroked his hand. The last thing Trevante had said to him before speaking became painful was;
"You look just the same as when I first saw you Robbie, cept not so sad-eyed anymore."
Trevante squeezed his hand as tightly as his weakening body would allow. Robert bent down to kiss his forehead. Trevante smiled again and his eyes fell shut. The grip on his hand went loose.
The last of his family.
Alone again.
Never alone, pet...
He heard it slither in his mind, stroking up and down his spine, making his stomach quiver.
The sister glanced up, just realizing her brother had passed away. Put away her phone and got up to walk out without a word.
The room that had felt warm and loving with Trevante's aura, now icy cold. Thought he saw a shadow pass by the window. That heavy dark presence near, near.
Come to me, the demand in his mind. Felt useless to fight it. Drawn over, out of Trevante's room. Down the corridor. Towards the back door.
He was there waiting at the threshold. Robert felt the trembling weakness in his chest. Like an aching sore, spreading pus. Didn't want to be alone. Wanted to give in. Wanted Daddy again.
"My poor baby,' he cooed. "No one in all the world to love him. All by himself. Only has me...who he so cruelly pushed away. I am a forgiving master though. Let me in Renfield. Let me in."
Tears quivered on his eyelashes. The hotness of them began to slide down his face. Felt for the stake in his jacket pocket he always kept on him. Palms around the splintery surface.
"No?" he said, sing-song voice. The condescension made his neck tickle, his belly feel hot.
"You despise me so much?"
"Yes," he replied feeling the shivering tears choking his breath. Knowing it was only partly true. Couldn't ever completely despise him despite all he'd done, even after all these years.
There was a soft laugh.
"Go on," he slithered out. "It was easy to kill me when you had your enablers indulging your victim complex, cheering you on. They're all gone now. Kill me. Truly be alone in the world. No one else to rely on."
Moved close as he could to the threshold, long white hands on the door frame. Chest right there to be impaled.
The smug look in his face...
So sure he'd go crying back to him...just a matter of time before he'd come running home. After f*cking years of trying to recover from him, to heal, to think he'd just throw it away, undo all the progress and waltz into his arms to be treated like less then scum all over again.
The point of the stake slammed down with a meaty thunk. Right through the fabric and the flesh and bone. An exhale of dark black blood splattered down his white chin.
He looked almost proud of him. That disdainful smirk changing to a smile that made his eyes crinkle up with a genuine fond warmth. Seconds dragged on as his blood like oil, poured down Robert's hand and wrist, pooling at their feet. It suddenly hit him. So blinded with anger, he'd completely missed his heart. Was around above his stomach instead.
The warmth disappeared in a flash. Pure contempt all over again. Disappointed.
"Can't even do it properly," Dracula said, blood shining on his teeth. "Need me to help you stick it in."
He stepped slightly back, the stake in Robert's shaking hands sliding out with a slick, squelching sound.
Moved forward again, plunging the stake deep inside his gut. Robert felt the heat deep in his own belly, his breath short and hitching. The freshly slit hole was engulfing the stake inch by hideous inch, all pulsing meat. Taking it deeper, deeper until Robert's fingers brushed inside him. Feeling the cold slippery organs underneath his hand. Red eyes and dripping teeth right by his. Robert's face moved past the threshold. Kissed him, tasted his blood. His tongue like a slimy tentacle poured into Robert's mouth, familiar, comforting, repulsive.
Dracula ground down on the stake, his fresh blood filling Robert's throat. Robert felt his co*ck twitching, aching with want. Fumbled one handed with his fly, grabbing at himself. Angling it towards the hole in his stomach he'd made, wanting to shove it in with the stake, feel the bloody wood against his co*ck...
Dracula moved away at once. Looked down at the dribbling red co*ck head in Renfield's fist.
"I've been alive since the Medieval ages and two people have f*cked me in all that time," he said. "Do you think you're to be the third Renfield, with your sad little worm you call a co*ck?"
Laughed in his face.
"Are you done with your nonsense now, pet? Finally, ready to come back home? I've been more then patient with this tantrum of yours."
Robert stood there, balls aching, needing release, needing to come, cruelly denied. Tears dripping off his chin. Feeling so weak, so horribly weak.
"No," he choked out at last. "I'm not going back with you. Not ever."
Dracula's curling smile like a snake, eyes unblinking, staring into his.
"You'll come crawling back like the dog you are," he sneered. "You always do."
It was true. He had gone back to Dracula multiple times since he'd first broken away.
"Yeah..." he murmured. "I do come crawling back. But I always end up walking away again. And that's the important thing."
Dracula rolled his eyes, the look of disdain like dripping poison on his face.
"You're pathetic."
Robert finally managed to smile at him.
"Sure I am," he said.
"But you can't give me up either, Vlad."
