AUTHOR’S NOTE: this story was inspired by a song I heard recently. It’s a mediocre song, but there was a line that said “like a tattoo, I’ll always have you”, and it went from there. Also, unexpectedly, half the story turned into fan service.

Enjoy & Review plz!

TATTOO

The only thing more dull than watching paint dry was a three-hour status update with the Convention. In war times, such meetings were intense and necessary. In peace times, they were little more than formalities. But, with all but one member of the Convention being old, decrepit, and set in their ways, the meetings were held regardless, and every second that crept by bored Integra Hellsing closer to tears.

It wasn’t until close to eleven o’clock that they finally filed into their expensive cars and departed. Integra sigh a long sigh of relief, retreated to her private quarters, and drew a hot bath with essential oils. Water vapors shrouded the bathroom in a thin veil of mist as she unbuttoned her jacket, shrugged it off, and set it aside.

“I would prefer if you turned away long enough for me to undress,” she said to the seemingly empty room.

There was a chuckle as she loosened her scarf. “You think so little of me, master.”

“One tends to be more careful when physically exposed.” She slid off her trousers and hesitated momentarily before unbuttoning her blouse. There was a time, a mere couple of years ago, when she wouldn’t have even considered showing her virgin flesh to him. But as the years passed and she matured in both body and mind, it seemed to matter less and less.

Besides, he always swore that he never peeked when she did not want him to, and she always trusted him.

She unhooked her brassier, a plain white piece specifically designed to minimize her ample cleavage, which did not shy in size and proportion to the police girl’s. It was a matter of function over appearance. To allow her true curves to show would only make it harder for her to be taken seriously in her position. Unlike most women, she often cursed that she was born with a beautiful body.

“Keep your wandering gaze in check, Alucard.”

“Do you not trust me?”

“Only with my life,” she said, stepping into the tub. “Not my bath. It is already a privilege that do I not order you out of here. Do not disappoint me.”

“Of course not, master.”

She lowered herself into the water. The heat was enough to turn her skin a warm pink. She let the bubbles glide over her body. There was a rustle of movement in the unseen shadows. She dipped her head downward and up, letting the soapy water soak her hair. It clung to her neck and back.

“I take it the meeting was less than entertaining.”

She scrubbed her shoulders with a bath sponge. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

“If I understand correctly, master, your presence is not required at every meeting during peace times. Walter could easily stand in for most of them.”

“That’s true.” Integra reached for a bottle of shampoo. It was sitting too far away for her reach, but a moment later an unseen force nudged against it, moving it toward her waiting hand. “Thank you. What you said is technically true, but to skip a meeting is something I cannot risk. Being the youngest and newest member of the convention, my actions are already put under a microscope. Any little mishap is an excuse for the old men to badmouth me before the Queen. They scrutinize me at every turn, looking for something to pick at.”

A few moments of silence passed, the only sound remaining being the splashes of water against her skin.

“Turn away,” she said.

She waited several seconds before rising out of the water. A stack of fresh towels laid besides the marble sink. She wrapped one around her long hair and dried herself off with another.

“Shall I fetch your robe, master?”

“Nice try.”

She found the bathrobe herself, her favorite lavender silk robe that she’d worn since she was fifteen. It was a bit snug now, but still comfortable. The embrace of the cool silk always eased the tensions of the day. When she exited the bath, she could sense him following.

“No matter how hard they try, master, they cannot possibly identify all of your traits, perfections and flaws alike.”

“They sure do try their hardest.”

“Do you take pleasure in the few secrets you are able to keep from them?”

She sat on the four-post bed canopy bed and opened a bottle of lotion sitting on the vanity. “And what could you possibly be referring to?” she asked, already knowing his meaning. But the question serves its purpose – it brought him out of the shadows. Alucard wore his usual sly smirk as he stepped into sight and leaned against the nearest bedpost.

“Only that little mark of rebellion,” he said, gesturing toward her chest.

She chuckled, opened the bottle, and spread the fragrant lotion on her face and neck. Then, a bit more carefully, she parted the bathrobe’s collar and dabbed lotion on her shoulders and chest. On top of her left breast, just under the collarbone, was the tell-tale mark, an inked design of a red apple with a single green leaf.

“Rebellion?” she said. “This is not a mark of rebellion, my servant. I thought you’d have figured that out after all these years.”

Alucard arced a brow. He was surprised, and she was secretly glad that she was able to surprise him. It was something of a small treat. “Is that so?” he asked. “Forgive me for being presumptuous then. I had always assumed that a tattoo on a teenage girl was an act of defiance, especially for one such as yourself, who lived a life of constant constraint.”

“You’re right in one thing.” She removed the towel around her hair and shook her blond mane loose, then pulled the bathrobe up and back and her hair forward, exposing her back and neck. She offered the bottle of lotion to Alucard, who came forward and took it. “I have lived a life of constraint, and this tattoo is indeed a result of that.”

He sat on the bed next to her. She turned her back to him.

“Take off your gloves this time. But it’s not about defiance. I’d long accepted my position and defying it would do no good.”

He set his gloves on his lap and poured lotion onto his hand. Then, carefully, respectfully, he guided it up and down her back, around over her neck. “Then what, if I may ask, was its purpose? As I recall, you came home with it right before your sixteenth birthday and nearly gave Walter an aneurism.”

She laughed. He did the same. “Yes,” she said. “That was a good day. But I had gotten this tattoo not because I felt rebellious, but because I felt I needed a reminder against rebellion. I trust you remember the story of Adam and Eve?” She didn’t have to turn to know he was nodding. “Eve had partaken the forbidden fruit that led to the first downfall of mankind. This apple is a reminder to myself that I must never repeat that mistake. To give into the things in life that tempted me would mean consequences beyond my ability to mitigate. There are many things in life I cannot have or be a part of, because of my current position. It’s my forbidden fruit.”

He closed the bottle of lotion. She pulled the robe over her back and held the front close. “So now that you know the reason, does it seem silly to you, compared to the original idea of rebellion?”

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

She fetched a hairbrush and began to run it through her hair. “The apple itself represents many things. The deceit of the snake, reflected in today’s political and capitalistic environment, the innocence man once hand, now never to be obtained again, love and lust both, represented in the red color.”

“Do you consider love and lust to be part of the world that is forbidden to you?”

“I do.” Absently, her hand wandered to the tattoo, as if checking to see if it was still there.

Alucard stood. He set the bottle of lotion on the vanity and turned toward his master. “I find it a novel idea, master.”

She eyed him curiously. “What is?”

“To wear a reminder of the thing one cannot have. It’s almost a cleansing ritual, to rid one of temptations.” There was a mischievous look in his eyes. “Have I ever shown you this trick, master?”

She started to ask him what he meant, but he shrugged out the left sleeve of his coat. She watched as he unbuttoned his suit and undershirt, pulling them aside to expose his bare shoulder and chest. His skin was white and smooth as that of a lamb. Then, a faint shadow began to appear over it, forming a familiar shape where his heart had once beaten.

She watched with interest as a golden cross appeared on the left side of his chest. Its shape and size was identical to the pin she wore on her collar everyday. He smiled at her.

“Forbidden fruit, master. We each have our own.”

To hide the color on her face, she stood and pretended to take her time putting away the hairbrush. Lifting the quilt on the bed and climbing underneath. When she turned back, he was already gone, off on another night of hunting.

“Good night,” she said to the empty room, and laid down, wondering if this was going to be another night of dreams filled with red, the color of blood, his coat, and the apple on her chest.