AN: I highly recommend reading the original, uncensored version of this chapter, which can be found in the link on my profile. Explicit scenes give me more room to play with the key characters and their interaction. Yes'm.

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Chapter 3

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Integra knows that she can never give in, so she does a thousand and one things to reinforce her position. For God, and queen, and country – for the honor of the great Hellsing name - she steels herself and grits her teeth. She plays her role, oh so very dutifully.

Integra is, at the very least, content with her life, as she stares out of her office windows overlooking the training grounds below, where her soldiers are performing their daily drills. She watches as one of her officers soundly beats a new recruit, knocking the young man's legs out from underneath him. His backside hits the ground and he curls his body slightly in pain. She nods to herself in approval.

She is rich and she is powerful, but there isn't a day that passes by where she doesn't wonder what it would feel like to throw honor and obligation to the wind and let her passions take her.

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Once she dreamt that she was entertaining Sir Penwood with a game of billiards. Politicking and whatnot.

The older gentleman isn't half bad with a cue, and as the sun begins its slow decent outside of the west-facing window, they chat as they always do about armaments and military strategy. Sir Penwood isn't nearly as useless as he seems to think he is, and Integra remembers him fondly from her childhood.

She is dressed in her usual suit, but the jacket has been discarded over a chair in favor of the range of motion she needs to line up each shot perfectly.

She's winning, of course. After all, it is her dream.

As she bends over the table, she can feel Penwood's eyes lingering on the flat plane of her back and the curves of her hips, hidden though they are in her masculine trousers. When she pulls her right arm back, her well-toned tricep is taut against the white fabric of her sleeve. She imagines that he is imagining the lines of her shoulders, the path down her ribs, the firm skin over her abdominals – all things he will never see.

She sinks the 8-ball with authority and slowly straightens herself, turning her head to the side to look at her opponent, one eyebrow slightly cocked.

Well? Her expression says, I've won again. What are you going to do about that?

In the next instant, Penwood's large body is pinning her smaller frame against the table rail and his hands are in her hair. Integra leans back slightly, nonchalantly resting her hands against the green felt and wood frame on either side of her. When he kisses her sloppily she takes a moment to appreciate the warmth of another human's body against her legs, her lips. Penwood is soft and flabby, and Integra finds this as amusing as she finds it distasteful. But she knows that this will not last, that it will never mean anything, and so she waits and does not wait long.

A chill suddenly seeps into the air around them, and it feels so foreign in the warm light of the sunset that casts rose shadows across the room. Penwood is only able to register the sensation as a quiet dread that suddenly causes him to feel cold and clammy. His senses are on high alert and he quickly opens his eyes and steps back, clearing his throat. He reaches up towards his neck and loosens his tie a bit, pulling the crisp, constricting collar of his white dress shirt away from his body. He avoids her eyes.

"Forgive me, Sir Integra, but the hour is late and I should be heading home."

She nods and exchanges goodbye pleasantries with her old friend, though neither of them are paying attention. Penwood just wants to get the fuck out of the Hellsing manor, his thoughts filled with unformed feelings of guilt and fear.

Walter escorts him to the door.

Integra is still leaning against the table, her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze fixed on the wall in front of her.

Her vampire is a possessive one, and he does not keep her waiting.

When Alucard appears, it is straight through the wall. First the tip of one black boot, his knee, encased in thick black fabric, the red brim of his hat. He is grinning like a deranged maniac, and she can't see his eyes behind the yellow glass of his lenses.

Teeth bared, he strides towards her and even though he fills the air with a frost that caresses her skin and lingers as a chill upon her mind, she doesn't shiver or fidget.

Within the space of a breath, he is before her, and her vampire is cool to the touch, his body hard against her thighs and stomach. He places his gloved hands on either side of hers, his thumbs barely stroking the knuckles of her pinkie fingers. He shifts his lower body slightly, and before she knows it he's firmly pushed her legs further apart to settle his own in between them.

She can feel his erection, cold against her heat.

"That wasn't very nice, Servant," she says.

"You shouldn't be such a cock tease, Master," he replies.

Alucard is a sandstorm and Integra has always felt that if she isn't careful, he will cut her. Like slivers of shattered glass, his darkness would seep beneath her skin and crawl like cold black tar through her veins.

And she would be lost.

But she is Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing. She will never bend and she will never break.

No matter how much he tempts her.

When he leans in and grazes the curve of his fangs against her neck, Integra forgets to breathe.

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When Integra wakes, the sun is hot upon her face and all she remembers is a vortex of black and red, and a man's white glove upon a green table.

She ignores the strange ache between her thighs and heads straight to the bathroom for a long, cold shower.

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Behind her, the sun is setting. Integra is hunched over her desk, buried in her work as always.

When Alucard makes his appearance that night, she swears he's smirking just a little more than usual. But all these thoughts are useless and Integra will never give in to her base desires. She levels a frosty glare at her servant over the rims of her glasses.

"You seem especially tense tonight, my master," He says, baring all those very sharp teeth.

Integra ignores the way that his black hair falls carelessly over his pale forehead and yellow lenses.

"There are so many things that I could do to help you relax," he says. He is advancing towards her, step by step, his boots clicking softly against the marble beneath.

When he comes within arm's reach, she calmly grasps the pistol hidden under her desk and unloads three blessed silver bullets into his chest. Alucard vanishes in a swirl of shadows, his laughter echoing across the walls long after he is gone.

Integra knows that she can never have what she craves in the darkest of nights when she is alone beneath the covers. She knows that she must live for honor, and duty, and she would never want it any other way.

So for now she contents herself with position and power, cigarettes and alcohol.

Integra lives in the smoky haze of her cigars and the flat lines of her suit layers.

And she tells herself that she never wonders if there could be more.

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-Lyra