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I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch
Everybody wants you
Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you
— Taylor Swift, Gold Rush
1. Arthur Holmwood
When Van Helsing first received the letter from John asking him to come to London, his heart gladdened. Of course he felt sorry for the poor young girl who was ill, and he could read John’s worry in his words, but he had not seen John in years; the last letter he’d received was months ago and had been rather impersonal, mostly concerning professional matters, such as John’s acquisition of his asylum.
So he packed his bags and bought a ticket to London. On the train, he reread John’s letter, his eyes catching slightly on the same words as the first time he read it. John’s description of Mr Arthur Holmwood. John described him as one of his dearest friends, and made mention of his good heart. He also mentioned that Ms Westenra was his fiancée, however, and that it was on Mr Holmwood’s request that John had taken her on as a patient.
Seeing John again was marvellous; it felt like no time had passed since they last parted. Van Helsing wanted to take his hands and kiss them, like so many times before. But he ignored the impulse. Yes, they had been lovers when John was his student, but that was years ago. John had outgrown him, he knew. Besides, they had more pressing issues than trying to rekindle affairs long burned out.
***
It wasn’t until days later that Van Helsing actually met Mr Holmwood. He was handsome in a classic way, with fair, curly hair and a strong jawline. John took his hands and called him Art, and they spoke with trust between themselves.
Mr Holmwood was engaged to Ms Westenra, although that did not have to hold much stock – many gentlemen maintained a wife and a lover on the side, male or female. Still, there was no doubt of how deeply Mr Holmwood loved his betrothed, the way he was willing to give every last drop of his blood to her if need be.
Van Helsing could not help but notice though that John looked at Mr Holmwood with a certain light in his eyes, a look he recognised all too well, because years ago John had saved it just for him.
2. Quincey Morris
Van Helsing and John tried their best to rub life into Lucy’s cold body, heating her with water as much as they could, their sleeves rolled up as they were splashing about.
Van Helsing was focused on the task at hand – he saw the bandage on John’s wrist, noted that it was very much not the wound he’d let blood out of, but he did not pay it much mind. Lucy’s life was in danger, and required all their attention.
She needed more blood, but both him and John had given her already. The situation was dire. The maids were an option, but not a good one, since they had laudanum in their systems.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, came Quincey Morris.
Van Helsing recognised the name John called out from one of his letters, back when he was visiting in America. He had no idea the two men had grown so close, but John rushed towards Mr Morris with open arms, a display of affection that Van Helsing had seldom seen – if ever. They held each other’s hands as they spoke, but hardly seemed aware of it, more like it was a subconscious action, so commonplace between them that it hardly warranted note.
Mr Morris was tall and good-looking, with dark hair and even darker eyes. His nose had the slightest crookedness to it, like it had been broken a long time ago but healed nicely, and it gave him a look of travelled experience and heroism. And he was brave – he’d only been told of the situation some minutes ago, but offered up his blood without a second thought.
John looked at him with admiration and appreciation and, yes, love. If it was that of a friend or a lover, Van Helsing could not tell. But Mr Morris was, to the best of his knowledge, not attached, and was a greater threat than Mr Holmwood.
Threat? Van Helsing scoffed internally. As far as he knew, he was no longer a player on the field. He’d been enough once, John’s first experience, but by now he’d be exploring new worlds on his own.
After Mr Morris had given blood, John wrapped his wound with gauze taken from Van Helsing’s medical bag. Van Helsing was tending to Lucy, but overheard their conversation.
“You better change your own wrapping as well. It is all wet,” Mr Morris said.
“Yes,” John agreed.
“What happened?” Mr Morris asked. “It is not the site of your bloodletting, even I can see that.”
“A patient of mine attacked me,” John said.
Van Helsing whipped his head around at the same time that Mr Morris said,
“What?!”
John looked between them.
“Do not worry yourselves about it, please. I do not believe he truly wished to hurt me.”
“Jack…” Mr Morris started. “You know I respect your work, but it makes me nervous to know you’re in that house alone with a bunch of madmen.”
“I am not alone; I have the attendants, and they helped me in this situation.”
John looked over at Van Helsing.
“Come, Quincey, we better leave poor Lucy to rest,” he said.
The two men left the room, John set to take care of Mr Morris. Van Helsing was left to watch over Lucy and monitor her condition.
Jack. Mr Morris had called him Jack, just like Mr Holmwood, the diminutive passing his lips as easily as he had taken John’s hands. And the bandage… Van Helsing would’ve asked about it, had the opportunity arisen. He had noticed it.
3. Patrick Hennessey
John received a report while they were staying at the Westenra residence. From work, he said.
Van Helsing glanced over John’s shoulder. Patrick Hennessey, M. D., M. R. C. S. L. K. Q. C. P. I. Almost enough credentials to challenge Van Helsing’s own.
“Who is the man that sent this to you?” Van Helsing asked.
“Patrick? Oh, he’s a surgeon at the asylum.”
“A surgeon? I was not aware that you were in need of another.”
“He’s my second in command, part-timer. He is there when I need him–” John smiled, “–like now. I am confident he will run the place without problem.” He grimaced. “Not much, at least. One of the patients had an incident.”
Van Helsing nodded, but his insides were souring. He is there when I need him… And that smile, what did it mean? He could remember with crystalline clarity nights when John had pulled him close and whispered that he needed him. Was this Patrick his replacement?
Replacement, how foolish… That was casting himself in a more prominent role in John’s life than was justified.
4. R.M. Renfield
Reading the transcripts of John’s phonograph diary was delightful. Of course, Van Helsing was focused on the mission above all, but he still enjoyed reading John’s sections of their collected documents. The last couple of weeks’ activities had kept them busy and they had not found the time or the energy – or the gall – to talk like they used to. Now, he had some of John’s thoughts in his hands, and it felt like holding a piece of his soul.
He was not overly surprised to read in the transcripts that John had proposed to Lucy – the love he held for her had been palpable, even though he’d tried to hide it. Why then had Van Helsing not felt the same jealousy towards her, or of John’s obvious admiration for Madam Mina?
Well, they were women; they filled a different role. When one was of a bisexual nature, such as himself and John, different parts of one’s nature would correspond to their appropriate counterpart. He was not in competition with Lucy or Mina, for John’s female nature corresponded with the male nature in him, and vice versa. It was only the men in John’s life that had the potential to attract it as well.
The way John wrote – or spoke, really – of the men in his life was arousing ugly feelings in Van Helsing. The words about himself, yes, he held them close to his heart, but Arthur and Quincey received their own portions of praise and ponderings.
And then there was Mr Renfield.
He was one of John’s patients, so of course John would record about him, but the way he did it… The excitement he felt for his patient – whom he called his friend – bled through in the written form. Van Helsing recognised it, that was always what a new object of study presented. Still, John’s descriptions of the man and their interactions were… peculiar. And he had attacked John! The gash that was scarring at his wrist had been put there by Mr Renfield, but from Dr Hennessey’s report, it seemed that John had not put him in a strait-waistcoat, or the padded room, much like he had relieved him at an earlier point, despite his attendants’ hesitation. Was John treating this man with preference?
But Van Helsing could understand it, up to a point. Mr Renfield was interesting – not only in relation to their enemy. It wasn’t until he ventured with John to visit Mr Renfield that his heart really sank in his chest.
Oh, it was ridiculous, but he saw how handsome Mr Renfield was; some of it had faded with age, and his face was weathered like a man who’d spent a lot of time on ships, but it was undeniable. Although his hair was grey and his eyes were crazed, although his chin was covered by a white stubble, he was handsome.
Things only became worse when he opened his mouth.
The patient was not only interesting and handsome, but well-spoken, seeming as sane as any man. What before had seemed like foolishness – that John would be sweet on his patient – now appeared less far-fetched.
Van Helsing knew from John’s diary transcripts that he spent a lot of time in this room with this man, alone. And loneliness, he knew, could make even the best man err.
No, it was unfair to John, to harbour such suspicions. John would not stoop so low as to lay down with a madman like Renfield – not as a doctor, and not as a man!
5. Simmons the Attendant
Watching John at work was nice, to see his own lessons put into actions. Although John was as busy as the rest of them, he also had to attend to his patients, and tried to solve the puzzle by leaving as much in the hands of the attendants as he could.
There was one in particular that he seemed to have a good relationship with; Van Helsing only ever heard him call him Simmons, no first name.
Simmons was clearly more experienced than the rest, and had at least half a decade on John, but he heeded his every word. He openly held admiration for his doctor, and maybe this was where Van Helsing fell short; he had been John’s mentor and master, and John still called him Professor. He’d never leave that role, but John had moved on. Now, he was the master that people respected and obeyed, and he looked comfortable. Naturally, a man like John – clever, successful, with an air of authority – would prefer to move into his potential, instead of staying in Van Helsing’s shadow. John had been happy enough to be with him as a young student, but now he was an experienced doctor. The truth was that he had moved passed him.
Simmons was shorter than John, but muscular and with big, honest eyes. Not particularly handsome, but he spoke to John with a mixture of respect and camaraderie, which charmed him.
And then there was the time when Van Helsing was in John’s sleeping quarters and John called on Simmons, who walked into the room without fanfare. Just like he did – but he had earned that intimacy, as a friend and as a lover, had he not?
Or perhaps Simmons had earned it as well. The thought was a bitter one, and unbidden. Just like with Mr Renfield, Van Helsing had no reason to believe that something was going on between John and Simmons. It was just that… John had a lot of men in his life, and a lot of them were handsome, or charming, or loyal, or brave. In Amsterdam, John had only had him. Given more options, would Van Helsing have gotten the chance to hold him at all?
6. Jonathan Harker
Van Helsing had been deeply impressed by Harker’s bravery and endurance, recorded in his diary. The rest of their company had been equally impressed.
John, it would seem, only had eyes for Harker these days. He regarded him with an awe and reverence that would be better fit in a chapel. The more resolute Harker grew, the more he appeared in the pages of John’s diary transcripts. Though John had been very taken by Madam Mina, Van Helsing couldn’t help but ponder if perhaps he’d like to be in her place.
Harker’s devotion to his wife was the stuff of legends – not even Wise Solomon had loved his beloved so deeply. Was John drawn to such devotion? Van Helsing was pained to know that he could never give John something like it. Had the Church allowed it – had God willed it – he would have married John, if he ever should have wanted it. Maybe once upon a time he had; he knew it was for the best, but sometimes Van Helsing resented himself for letting John leave Amsterdam. There was no guarantee John would have stayed if he’d asked, but he had not even asked. He had refused to hold John back from the greatness he knew he could achieve, and John loved his homeland. It was simply not meant to be.
And still, he watched John watch the Harkers, and he ached to give him something similar. Of course he could not compete with Harker, he was a poor substitute, but he could not quell the hope that he would be enough. John had loved him once, had he not?
(+1.)
The night before they left for Varna was filled with anxiety and preparations. Once the preparations were made, that left them all in a pressing haze of anxiety.
Van Helsing did not sleep – made no attempt to. He did not even change into his nightclothes. The others were likely in similar states of sleeplessness, but the Harkers had each other, and Arthur had Quincey. The only ones alone right then were him and John, unless John had joined his friends.
He went to John’s rooms, and he’d barely knocked on the door before John tore the door open
“Come in,” he said, and ushered Van Helsing inside.
In the sitting room, a bottle and a half-full glass stood on the small table by the settee. John resumed his seat, inviting Van Helsing to sit beside him.
“I would offer you brandy, but I do not have a second glass,” John said.
Perhaps it was the anxiety heightening his emotions, but Van Helsing felt an intense irritation towards himself over how pleased he was with the information that John did not keep two drinking glasses in his private quarters.
“No worry, we can share,” he said.
He took the glass and raised it to his lips, the need for alcohol obvious. Anxious energy was rolling through both of them, and sitting here together was a comfort but did not actually calm them.
When he put the glass back on the table, John grasped it, and Van Helsing saw that he placed his lips over where his own had been.
“How do you feel, friend John?” he asked.
John closed his eyes and shook his head. He wanted to offer some comforting words, but there was nothing he could say that could distract from the direness of the situation.
They sat in silence, taking turns to sip the brandy.
“We might not come back,” John said suddenly. “We might die.”
“Yes,” Van Helsing said. Then he grasped John’s hand, just held it. “I am sorry.”
John was too young to die. Too young to draw up his testament, to leave for a journey that might be his last.
John looked down at their joined hands.
“Professor…” He looked up, into Van Helsing’s eyes. “I know it is not a good time, or the right time, but I…”
Van Helsing’s heart was beating in his ears, and he pressed John’s hand harder.
“Since I left Amsterdam, I have thought about you every single day,” John confessed. “I had to tell you; in case we do not make it back.”
“Oh, John, I dared not have the hope–”
He was cut off by John kissing him. He tasted of brandy and cigarettes and desperation, and it was everything he could ever have wanted.
Wrapping his arms around John’s shoulders, he brought him closer to him, closer and closer until John was almost sitting in his lap. John kissed him again and again, slipping his tongue into Van Helsing’s mouth, and it was like they had never stopped kissing, like all those years that had separated them never existed at all.
John pawed at Van Helsing’s clothes.
“Please,” he whispered.
“Yes, of course, anything you want,” Van Helsing said.
“I just– get on top of me.”
John leaned back on the settee, while more or less pulling Van Helsing on top of him. He opened his legs to let him settle between them, and Lord, they had been in this position many times before, naked and panting, but right then it felt more desperate than ever, and there were too many layers between them, Van Helsing wanted him bare.
John pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he opened John’s shirt with such frenzy that he ripped off two of the buttons. He was about to apologise, but John captured his mouth and ground against him, pushing his hard manhood against his hip.
Van Helsing pushed against him, his kisses landing less and less on John’s mouth and more and more down his throat. He didn’t stop at his pulse point though; it held a different meaning now.
“We should go to the bed,” he said, because they were getting hot and damp in their clothes, and he wanted John out of them.
“No, no, here, please,” John insisted.
He reached for Van Helsing’s trousers and undid them with deft fingers, and then made quick work of his own. He wrapped his hand around Van Helsing’s manhood, and Van Helsing did his best to keep up. John had not been this forward just a few years ago.
They rutted against each other, fucking into each other’s hands, sometimes kissing, and sometimes just breathing the same breath of air. Van Helsing pressed John down harder against the settee, he wanted to keep him there forever under him, he wanted him all to himself.
John keened and came, staining his stomach and Van Helsing’s half-open shirt. Then he sank into the settee like his body had turned to liquid.
Van Helsing kneeled above him. He wanted… he wanted to finish in John’s mouth, really, but was unsure how to ask for it after all these years. Instead, he wrapped his own hand over John’s and stroked himself to completion, spilling his seed onto John’s stomach and chest.
He tried to lie down next to John on the settee, but it was a tight fit. They should not linger anyway; they should clean up and ready themselves for departure. The dark night was already starting to lighten through the windows. It was almost time.