Author's Notes: Sequel to 'He belongs to me!'

Your Mind Will Not Let The Memories Rest

By LdyBastet


"It's him! It's the man ... but he has grown young again!" Jonathan felt as if a cold hand had gripped his heart and was squeezing it slowly, harder and harder. Shock made it difficult for him to say more for a moment as he stared at the figure standing on the other side of the street through the carriage window.

It was strange how he could recognize him; there was little left of the eerie, seemingly ancient man in strange robes that he had met at the castle in Transylvania. This was a younger man, in modern clothes, with dark ringlets that reached below his shoulders - the perfect picture of a gentleman - but the eyes betrayed him as they turned to regard the newly-married Mr and Mrs Jonathan Harker. Jonathan had seen those eyes before, had been the victim of their intensity.

Mina looked worriedly at him after his outburst, her hand on his shoulder as if to calm him down, or remind him of her presence.

When he could no longer see the Count, the carriage having taken them to another street, Jonathan came to his senses again and a deep anger filled him. He hailed the driver and told him to stop and go back. The carriage rattled back the way they had come, and as he stepped out a few minutes later, he gave instructions to the driver to take Mina home, and paid him in advance.

Jonathan looked around the small square to where Count Dracula had been standing, watching them. He made his way there with some haste, and then tried to determine where the man had gone, scanning the area with his gaze. It was time to give the Count a piece of his mind. He would not allow that ... monster of a man to stalk him, them even. As he let his gaze wander over the pedestrians, people having arrived at the station just like he and Mina had, Jonathan caught sight of that same sinister silhouette, a short glimpse of a half-long coat, top hat, and long hair, at a street corner. Then an elderly gentleman passed through his line of sight and the Count was gone again.

Following his instincts - he felt that it was the same man - Jonathan crossed the square, his shoes giving off a strange echo in his ears, as he passed over the worn cobblestones. As he came closer to the street corner and a dark opening between houses that had once been white-washed, he realised that this side of the square was less busy, as if people avoided it. Perhaps it was because of his growing apprehension that he interpreted it so, but when he turned around for a moment, looking back the way he had come, there was life behind him. Before him was a strange unknown. He saw now why this street had such an air of doom; the streetlight that normally would have lit it up was dark.

Jonathan snorted slightly at his own silliness. It was nothing but a fear of the dark, of what he could not see. After what he had been through, a dark street should not be able to strike fear into him - but perhaps it was just because of that, that it did, and unwelcome emotions were stirred by the sinister atmosphere. The prematurely greyed young man pushed forward at the same time as he pushed his fears away. This was London, not some remote castle in the middle of nowhere. If it was the Count, he still could do nothing to harm him here. Jonathan had gained a peculiar sense of self-confidence again as he had stepped onto British soil. This was a modern world, and superstition was left behind him, in the distinctly medieval Transylvania.

He hurried up the street, and as he turned another corner he thought he once again caught a glimpse of the figure he was trying to get closer to. He never noticed how the mist thickened, how lonely the street lamps looked now, as he was too busy being carried forward by his anger, feeling its pull on him.

Then, as he entered a dark alley, the usual busy sounds of London seemingly far away and muffled, the Count stood before him; the epitome of elegance in his well-tailored suit, coat, and hat. Jonathan was struck by a sense of beauty. It was not the soft beauty of a woman, of a child, but the wild beauty of untamed landscapes, of rushing rivers and jagged peaks; it was the captivating aura of wild animals, such that could be seen in tigers, lions, bears and wolves. He had seen it in the zoo ... and in Transylvania.

The memory of large wolves running after the terrible carriage that had taken him to Castle Dracula flew unbidden through his mind, and he gasped. It was him... It was the man. In London, as Jonathan had known he would be. The smirk on those well-formed lips was only too familiar, and Jonathan could feel how the energy he had been given from his flare of anger was seeping away and left nothing but cold emptiness in its wake.

"Welcome back to London, Mr. Harker."

It was the same tone Dracula had used when greeting Jonathan at the castle, insinuating that he now owned London as well. It did not make Jonathan feel welcome at all, and the feeling of safety, he now realised, had been nothing but a feeble hope, a denial of the dark reality; it fell away, and the shards of it cut bitterly into him.

"It seems that our paths cross again, and you have willingly, eagerly even, come to me once more." The Count was faintly amused by this development. Harker had somehow slipped from his grasp, escaped from his castle after he left, but here he was again, almost at arms length.

This felt different from what Jonathan had thought it would. He was not certain anymore just what strange delusions he had had. To actually stand face to face with the object of so many of his nightmares made him realise that, contrary to what he had believed, reality was much worse than the disturbing visions during uneasy sleep. What the dreams lacked, as he now found out, was the terrifying power that seemed to emanate from the figure in front of him. There was a magnetism in the Count's eyes that held him, that would not let him look away, no matter how much he tried.

What had Jonathan thought he could accomplish, chasing after Dracula? Exchange heated words? Receive an apology? And what use did he have for an apology, even were it forthcoming? Too late, Jonathan saw the flaw in his logic. This was no ordinary man, and he should have remembered instead of pushing that fact back to the hidden depths of his mind. He had foolishly repressed the memories of the many horrors he had seen, until he believed that they were only a product of the fever that had paralysed his mind while he was taken care of by the gentle sisters at the convent.

Try as he might, Jonathan could not stop his feet from taking a few steps toward the Count. It was frustrating, his body refusing to obey him, as it had on that previous occasion. The young man felt his cheeks grow hot at the memory of what had befallen him that time, the shame he had suffered. Even more frustrating was the knowledge that it had been he who had followed Dracula now, not the other way around.

Another step forward, and yet another, and he was close enough for the Count to reach out and caress his clean-shaven cheek. Just a light touch, almost tender.

"So pretty, like a young woman." Dracula's words cut deep into him. Jonathan was no woman! He was a man... although... his body had reacted in a most shameful manner in response to the Count's touches back in that horrible tower room. Suddenly, Dracula moved his hand to the back of Jonathan's head, grabbed his hair, and pulled his head back.

"And like a whore, you have come back for more!" Dracula's gaze wandered over the exposed throat, holding Jonathan in a secure grip with his mind now that the connection was made. With his other hand he caressed the pale skin of Jonathan's neck for a moment, then kissed him brutally, lips crushing against the mortal's, making them bruise against his teeth. A tight grip on Jonathan's windpipe made the young man gasp, and as he opened his mouth it was invaded in a most obscene manner, Dracula's tongue tasting the inside of it.

Jonathan squirmed slightly, but that was the only visible result, despite the efforts to push the Count away, to fight him, to bite down on the tongue that had snaked into him and now mapped out his mouth. The protest he tried to voice came out as nothing more than strangled sounds, whimpers, as his breathing became increasingly difficult.

When at last the Count broke the kiss and loosened the grip on Jonathan's throat, Jonathan felt light-headed, strange. It was as if his mind had now lost all its usual anchors with his body and floated freely inside it; he was conscious, but at the same time it felt as if he was dreaming. Dracula smiled cruelly at him as he opened his eyes and met the Count's gaze once more; he had not even noticed that he had closed them. Dracula took a step back, and every nerve in Jonathan's body screamed at him to take flight, to run before something worse happened to him, but he still could not move, captivated by the Count's dark, glittering eyes.

"Disrobe, if you would be so kind, Mr. Harker." Still polite, but there was a compelling force behind the words, turning them into a command that Jonathan could not disregard. Strangely enough, taking his clothes off seemed like a good idea, and he began unbuttoning his shirt after having taken off his coat and jacket. Then, in a flash of lucid thought, he realised what he was doing.


Jonathan tried to fight the command, stopping his body from following it, but to no avail. Even as he glared at the Count, the shirt slid off his shoulders, the plain cotton fabric a soft caress down his back as it came off. He could not explain why he had not fought back at first, only felt that his mind had betrayed him for a moment.

The Count laughed, a deep throaty sound that echoed between the walls of the alley. He found this highly amusing - to play with his oh so willing victim before sealing its fate. Dracula had unfinished business with this mortal, this insufferable whelp. He had escaped and he had called Mina to him, and even wedded her; the woman who should have been the Count's bride. For that, Jonathan Harker would have to pay.

Dracula watched as Harker undressed, watched as the mortal was still trying to fight him. Beads of sweat had formed on the young man's brow from the effort, and his scent was deliciously mingled with fear and frustration. He would build on that fear, play with the mortal's emotions, and weave disgust, doubt, and self-loathing into it.

Once Jonathan was naked, Dracula looked him over with a critical eye, as if appraising the body as though Jonathan were was some beast on sale. Then his gaze fastened on Harker's flaccid penis, and a nasty smile curled the corners of his mouth.

"That is all you have to offer the lady? Do you think you can satisfy anyone with that?" The mockery was clear, and Jonathan knew that he was being insulted, logically, but emotionally he had a moment of doubt. The humid London air began to chill his skin, and he shivered slightly, both gaze and temperature making him uncomfortable. This was no way to treat a gentleman, and the look in the Count's eyes was not one he was used to, but he had seen it before, and had learned what it meant through much hardship and bitter experience.

"I offer her my love," Jonathan managed to whisper. He was beginning to doubt he would get out of this situation alive, would that the Count just killed him, like he had seen those filthy demon women do to the baby, and did nothing like what he had done last time. But what little hope he had died as the Count ordered him to turn around and face the wall and lean against it. As he turned - or rather, as his body turned - Dracula's vicious gaze bore into him, into his very mind and soul, and he was impotent to fight against it.

Dracula stepped up behind Harker. It had been very pleasant to see the man undress, to feel him fight to be released from the commands with no way of escaping. He had him in his power, and degrading him would only make him taste sweeter in the end. The Count pressed his expensively clad body against Jonathan's bare back. He was beginning to grow hard, exerting control being a pleasure so delicious in its simplicity.

"Ah, but you are breathing hard already, Mr. Harker. Are you so eager then to feel me inside you again?"

Dracula slid a hand over Jonathan's flank, caressing it softly. He rubbed his hardening erection against one firm buttock, letting his victim feel it thoroughly, to feed the fear and apprehension. Would it not be a fitting punishment to make it look as if the young man had been meeting his lover, had enjoyed being sodomised before his unfortunate demise? Harker would have no honour after death, and Mina would need comforting after such a revelation.

This little arrangement demanded that Dracula leave no visible marks on Jonathan; so unlike the previous time there would be nothing to make the penetration easier. Despite this, he slowly, almost gently, began to open him up using first one finger, and then two.

Jonathan did what he could to fight this strange paralysis, trying to get away from the probing digits, but only managed to impale himself further on them. It was uncomfortable, but not as painful as it had been the first time he had been at Dracula's mercy and handled similarly. The worst thing, by far, was the feeling of shame, that the Count had his fingers inside Jonathan, in the most private place of a man, and ... Oh dear God! Not again! Not that strange pleasure! Jonathan thought and his breath hitched slightly. How could there be anything good in such a sick act? But once again, a wave of pleasure spread through his body as the Count rubbed his fingers over the secret nub, and he could not completely silence the surprised moan.

The Count smiled cruelly and licked up over Jonathan's neck, stopping just below the ear. "Mm, pleasurable is it not? I hear you are enjoying this," he purred. "Think then how much more you will enjoy what will come soon, what you are secretly longing for." After a last push that made Jonathan gasp, Dracula withdrew his fingers and opened his trousers. With a grip on the young man's hair, he pulled his head back and to the side, so that he could see his face, then slowly pushed the head of his erection against the opening he had loosened up slightly.

"I want to see your face as I take you; I want to read the enjoyment written on it."

Once more, the words found their target. It was a sore and not entirely healed place in his mind, in his heart, where doubt and self-loathing festered. This barb shot straight into it, and the disgust welled up in Jonathan again, thoughts and emotions that poisoned him after his captivity at the castle, like pus from a dangerously infected wound. The disgust was directed more at himself for experiencing those moments of pleasure, than at Dracula for subjecting him to them, that his body had reacted favourably to the act of sodomy before made him wonder just what kind of a man he really was - certainly no gentleman.

He screwed his eyes shut as he felt the Count's hard flesh enter him. It was different this time. The Count had not cut him, so there was no blood to ease the way. It was also slower, and Jonathan found it almost as painful as last time when he was stretched open by the intrusion. As soon as Dracula started moving inside him, pulling out and then pushing back inside, it hurt, it burned, and Jonathan made choked sounds of pain, denial and protest, unable to keep them back any longer.

The humiliation of the entire experience finally hit him again as, suddenly, that surprising pleasure shot through him once more, only stronger this time. Jonathan hated this, hated how it made him feel - all tingly and weak, his breath quickening - and he abhorred how it made his body react. Despite the horror of it all, the continued sensations washing over him rhythmically, like waves of the ocean, and Jonathan could feel himself grow hard. To his utter revulsion there was a small part in him that wanted the next wave to hit him, and that part also wanted to immerse itself and revel in it.

Dracula chuckled slightly as he could feel how he was breaking down the carefully built self-image of the young mortal. Harker was his, and there was no use in him trying to pretend otherwise. Harker had, after all, come running to him at the merest glimpse. The reasons did not matter; they were all a part of the manipulation, the game. The Count had let Harker see him, the man had taken the bait, and now the hunter was playing with his prey, this tasty little morsel.

For a while, the Count enjoyed how his victim fought with himself, but decided that feeling him fail would be sweeter still, and reached around Harker to move his long, slender fingers in a tight grip on the man's erection.

"This is why you sought me out, Harker. This is why your mind will not let the memories rest and you dream vividly during long nights... Is your flesh hard and eager in the morning?" Dracula knew that the any nightmares of what he had done to Harker in the castle in Transylvania and the man's morning erection had nothing whatsoever to do with each other, yet it served his purposes to imply that they did. What little belief the young man had in himself and his masculinity was about to be stripped from him.

Jonathan shook his head, denying the Count's words. There was no truth in them... or was there? Was the Count correct in how those nightmares affected him? After all, he was still hard at daybreak, like any other morning, the horrors of the memories not enough to change that reaction. When he woke up there were still traces of the shameful images of what the Count had done to him, and yet there were also undignified emotions of lust and desire. Perhaps... perhaps even more so on those mornings? No! It was not so! Jonathan tried to push the doubt away, but it was becoming increasingly difficult the longer Dracula moved inside him, now also fondling and stroking his privates.

"That is right, Jonathan." Dracula's whisper was low, sensual, and he used Harker's given name to increase the intimacy, wheedling his way deeper into the young man's mind and emotions. "Give in to it, give in to me, and I will show you pleasure immeasurable. A pleasure you have not felt before..."

Promises, temptation, designed to make victory all the sweeter, and the Count made a purring sound as Jonathan lost the battle with his body and it took over more and more, responding to all the sensations.

Ah, how he loved this particular power. To insinuate and seduce the mind and body of the mortals, to make them do things that went completely against their convictions and desires. Dracula laughed softly as he stroked Harker's erection, feeling how the young man's body had stopped fighting him, and instead let him guide it to a devastating climax.

Jonathan was panting. This was too much, too much to comprehend. He could no longer think, his mind was silenced by the flares of intense sensation, the waves of burning hot pleasure, the blood that was pounding in his ears. A very small part of his consciousness tried to tell him that this was wrong, but it could not stand up against the control the Count now had over him, and he spilled his seed over Dracula's hand and onto the wall he was leaning against.

Harker's climax made a feeling of triumph well up inside his tormentor, and that, together with the tightening of muscles and the strangled moan that was forced from Harker, made Dracula allow himself release as well, with one last, deep thrust.

He could both hear and see how the blood, the life, rushed through Harker's veins in the aftermath of the intense orgasm. With a throaty growl, Dracula pulled out of Harker's body, and swiftly turned him around into a perverse imitation of a lovers' embrace. Harker's eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed both from pleasure... and the growing shame. The Count slowly licked over the exposed neck, feeling the throb of the pulse under his tongue. This was what he had been waiting for - Harker, in his power, humiliated and submissive, ready to be killed.

Jonathan felt like a small animal, dehumanised by the acts committed against him and in the clutches of a predator. He could feel his entire being tremble, the Count's tongue exploring and tasting his skin, sending more shivers through his body. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he was certain that this was the end. Dracula would not let him get away this time. A wild but cunning animal, a carnivore, would not let an opportunity like this pass him by, and Dracula... Dracula also held a personal grudge.

He gasped as sharp teeth broke his skin. There was a strange rush of sensations accompanying the pain. There was pleasure and fear and an odd sense of comfort. Every nerve in his body seemed to be flooded with a current; there was even a sharp, piercing sound, like a police whistle.

Not until the Count growled and pulled away slightly from him, did Jonathan realise that the sound had had nothing to do with Dracula or his current situation. Once more, a whistle broke the stillness, and footsteps came closer at a running speed. Dracula looked toward the mouth of the alley, while Jonathan looked at him, more under his influence than ever before.

A dark shape moved quickly through the mist, running past the alley, but more footfalls followed, accompanied by shouting voices. Whoever had been running down the street had also led the police their way. As these soldiers of law and order were almost upon them, the first stopping to investigate the alley, perhaps thinking that the one they chased after was hiding there, Dracula licked over the puncture wounds on Harker's neck, sealing them, so he would not be bleeding. There would be no evidence of what had truly been about to happen.

The Count was not pleased with this development. It looked like he would have to forego the killing and feeding this time, saving that for their next meeting. However, he could still make life very difficult for Harker. He waited, letting the first policeman come closer, getting suspicious at seeing what did look like lovers entwined in an embrace, one of them naked even...

Shouts were raised again and two other men followed the first one into the alley while the rest chased after their fugitive. As they slowly moved closer, cautiously, the policemen spread out, beginning an attempt to surround the two figures they had found. But when they came close enough to clearly see them through the mist, the Count hissed in Harker's ear and then stepped away from him, releasing his grip on his intended prey.

Jonathan could only look back at Dracula, still held by the power of his gaze and mind, and did nothing to cover himself or to put some distance between them. Soon though, there was nothing more to see, as the mist seemed to thicken around the retreating figure until it was no more than a dark shape contrasting with the milky white wisps... and then there was nothing but the thick mist, the Count was gone, leaving Jonathan alone with the uniformed men.

When Dracula left the alley, the power he had used to keep Jonathan in a daze was broken, and the young man came back to his senses with a start. He whimpered and took a step back, slumping against the wall. He shivered and trembled, and as his movements made his insides shift slightly, the physical essence of the Count's intrusion began trickling down the inside of Jonathan's thigh, as if it sought its own escape to leave him empty and cold.

"So... it seems like your lover left you to deal with the law yourself." It was the first policeman to arrive who spoke, a taunting note in his voice and a cruel glint in his eyes. The scum they had been chasing after was no more than a simple thief, this was something else altogether. To catch a man engaged in the filthy acts of sodomy? And publicly as well, a crime that surely would condemn the man to a prison sentence. This was a fine and rare catch. One of the other men gathered the discovered clothing from the ground and threw them at Jonathan.

"Get dressed! You're coming with us."

The fear and the horror in Jonathan's eyes were mistaken for fear of what would happen to him now, the shivering only seen as evidence of his guilt. And guilt he felt, but it was different from what the policemen thought. This was the guilt of one who knew he had brought misery and near death upon himself, and the shame of one who had, once again, been betrayed by both his body and his mind.

With hands trembling from fear and self-loathing, as well as shock, Jonathan reached for his trousers to pull them on. The appearance of these men had delivered him from certain death, but the humiliation that the miraculous escape brought with it was hard to bear despite the gratitude he felt. The buttons of the shirt were proving problematic in his current state - it did not help either that the policemen were watching him silently while he dressed - and it took him some time before he looked reasonably presentable again.

It was a long night for Jonathan, spent in a small and unadorned room. His backside hurt terribly, and he was being questioned endlessly about the events in the alley. That he was taken against his will, the inspector found hard to believe; where were the bruises, the blood, and injury that would prove that he had tried to fight back? He had been terrified? But what, pray tell, had the mysterious man said or threatened Jonathan with to make him near paralysed?

Jonathan knew that he could not reveal what kind of a strange monster Dracula was, or these men would never believe him, so he invented a knife, a knife held against his throat but never drawing blood. He called himself a coward, and like a coward he felt. He said that he had only wanted to survive and had hoped he could bear the shame afterwards, so he had stopped fighting, letting the strange, foreign man do whatever he wanted. There was contempt and loathing in the eyes that regarded him as he told his story over and over, but in the end, as the morning light found its way into the room, he was released with no more than a nod and a stern warning to stay away from the back alleys of London.

On the way home, Jonathan cried bitter tears that did nothing to wash away the stigma of his experience. How could he face Mina after this? And this Doctor Van Helsing? Would he see what the Count had done to him? Mina had said that he was a very observant, if somewhat eccentric, gentleman. If Jonathan spoke about this... encounter, would he guess what had happened? Ask him why he was still alive? Better to not let anyone know. There would not be any legal action taken against him, so if Jonathan did not bring it up, no one else would.

As the carriage drew up outside his destination, Jonathan Harker wiped the tears from his cheeks and took a deep breath. He had not managed to find the man that had watched them; he had looked everywhere, but had not been able to find a single clue, and in the end had given up, going home instead. He knew what properties the Count had bought so there was still a chance to find his whereabouts.

With a heart made cold by his experiences and the necessary repression of the memories of them, Jonathan walked up the stairs. He would lie next to his beautiful wife, but he doubted sleep would come easy to him from now on. It had already been troubled by nightmares, and he had a feeling he would see more of those now.

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