Since Carl’s tryst with the woman in Transylvania, it seemed that every time they went anywhere the friar managed to entice some pretty village girl into his bed. Van Helsing wondered how long he’d have to endure this.
Carl always waited until he thought Van Helsing would be busy, out, as he said, skulking around looking for the lair of whatever it was they were sent to kill. But more than once Van Helsing had returned earlier than Carl anticipated.
Carl didn’t know this, however. Van Helsing never told him. He waited outside, listening, growing hard, and even stroking himself to completion as he imagined what was occurring on the other side of the door. Then he’d disappear for a while until after the girl was gone.
Tonight, though, the door was open. Not just unlocked, not entirely closed. Van Helsing could see through the crack with one eye, and though he felt ashamed by doing so, he watched. The bed was to the left of the doorway, giving him a complete view. He watched Carl make love to her, touching and kissing her everywhere, watched how the friar had her practically begging to be taken. And when he did take her, Van Helsing saw how careful he was, and then how passionate. He came when Carl did, and almost forgot to be quiet.
He hated feeling this way, guilty and wrong, just as he had every time he’d touched himself thinking of Carl and that Transylvanian woman. He didn’t begrudge Carl the pleasure he’d found with her, he begrudged her of Carl. Carl was his, and that a complete stranger had done for him what Van Helsing longed to do, upset him. It should have been him. But how could he tell him? How did you tell someone that you felt something you should not feel?
He hid again, and waited for a long time after the girl left before returning to their room. Carl was asleep, and Van Helsing watched him until dawn.
The next time they traveled and Carl found a willing body, Van Helsing once again found himself outside the door. He hadn't left, merely made up an excuse and then waited for Carl to bring her to his bed. In fact, he'd purposefully given Carl the opportunity for this, because Van Helsing found himself craving the sound of Carl lost in pleasure, or perhaps, again, the sight of it.
He was glad for his deception when Carl arrived with a young man.
Only moments after they’d disappeared behind a closed, latched door, Van Helsing was pounding on it. He sent Carl’s intended home with a gesture and a stern look, and smiled as the handsome man almost broke into a run to get away from him. Carl looked embarrassed, and a little angry.
“I know what you must be thinking, Van Helsing. And no, I’ve never been with a man before, this would have been the first. There’s. . . there’s surely nothing wrong with it, what’s the harm? I was just trying to have. . . something pleasant.”
“You still can,” Van Helsing said, as he began unbuckling his belt.
Carl looked at him wide-eyed, apparently not registering what he'd just heard, or what he was seeing. And then he smiled, and tilted his head in that way Van Helsing loved. "Well, then. I'll just lock the door," he said softly.
The door behind Van Helsing remained unlocked, however, as Carl didn't make it by the man.