on a steel horse I ride

How utterly bold his lover was. In a way no man or woman ever had been before. Her slender, femaine figure, nestled so neatly within his lap was like a siren song all its own. Her every movement, her every breath, was felt readily agianst his own figure and oh- how eager his body was to respond to even the slightest shred of attention she might offer him. Yet- it was the touch of her fingers agianst his lips that seemed to ensnare his attention so readily. Her bloodied and yet healed thumb traced a near delicate pattern across his lip in a silent and yet potent demand for entry. One Darcy was wholly willingly to allow her. The sweet, potent taste of her blood was far too glorious to refuse. Risque's fingers were quick to find their place near daringly between his lips as she traced each fang like a lover's caress. As if she sought to memorize every ridge and rise and smooth plain- along with every sharpened, deadly point. Never, in all his life, had another been daring to touch his fangs. Not like this. Even Risque herself, until now, had never sought this level of....obedience from him. Perhaps, in turn, she had never afforded him this level of trust. That vampiric pair, here and now, poised upon the very precipice of something far more....intimate then perhaps either had truly come to realize. Even despite Darcy's distinctly southern attempts to explain that complex entanglement of emotion he had placed beneath the single umbrella of 'love'. This, after all, was love was it not? To allow another vampire to trace his fangs while she, in turn, dared his very instinct to shatter that trust between them.

Her fingers continued that trail until they reached that fractured, broken fang. The single blunt knife in a mouth full of sharpened weaponry. It was instinct, perhaps, that prompted his jaw to flinch. Darcy, in that moment, distinctly aware of his own reaction as he strove to force it downward. That desire to bite, after all, was....ingrained within his very blood and bone. The taste of her, the scent of her- how desperately he desired to bite down and yet how readily that notion of betraying her trust, of bringing his beloved....harm in that fashion so seemed to coax a far more potent reluctance within him. He did not.....desire to.....hurt her. How readily his lover's hypnotic blue gaze seemed to find his own in that all-too potent moment. That warning within them silent and yet not less commanding- the vampiric pair, once more, so seeming to pause in that moment. That silent, delicate battle of will and trust and instinct seemed to turn all the tighter before Risque's hand extended to press gently and yet firmly agianst his chest. Her desire for him to lay back surely clearly. The vampiric cowboys figure shifted if only slightly. Darcy so silently doing as commanded as he lay back upon that sofa- his figure tensing near instantly beneath her own and yet, once more, the southern cowboy seemed nothing if not determined to cast those instincts aside. His figure inclined to remain tense and yet....biddable all at once. He had dared her, after all, had he not? This was an entirely new game. One whose rules were yet to be written. Risque's lips pressed seductively to that place below his ear, her words a honied, perfect sweetness that prompted little more than desire from his toned figure. Even if he was aware of the ploy within them. A distraction. An attempt to pull his mind away from her intentions and a game he was willing to allow himself to fall for in that moment. His mind was nothing if not willing to embrace the scent and feel of her agianst him. To lose itself within her presence- before her whispered words were joined by the sudden and irrevocable sensation of pressure. The feel of her hand agianst his chest. Holding him in place. As that tooth was ripped, roots and all, from the gum itself.

The sudden yelp of surprise that left the cowboy's lips was nothing short of instinctive. Darcy, for several moments, appeared nothing if not...stunned in the wake of that welcomed assault. The vampire, seemingly, almost too shocked to move- before that pain seemed to settle in. That shock rapidly gave way to that realization of his missing fang as the burning sting of its loss seemed to radiate with unrelenting force within his mouth. That single, muttered 'ow' was followed by a near rapid series of the same utterance. Darcy, in well of a century, so never before having uttered that singular phrase that fell so freely from his lips now. His feet kicked in a near childish tantrum. Risque had done so much worse before. Especially within his younger years. Oh, but he had suffered some of her harshest punishments with but barely a sound. Darcy, after all, had learned long ago that those whimpers of pain seemed only to assure her of the weakness she sought to pry out. The vampiric cowboy, over time, had become very near stoic when it came to receiving but any pain she sought to inflict upon him. Indeed, he had come near...crave it within the walls of their bedroom. This, however, was something new entirely. That singular reaction one he made no effort to guard, to hide, to bury between gritted teeth. Risque, in that moment, afforded a distinctly....unedited sight of her lover. Darcy, for the first time in well over a century, so content to display that hurt in front of his mate. To allow her to view its effects- if only for that trust that had seemed to solidify between them.

That tantrum was, perhaps fortunately, distinctly short lived as blood began to run freely from the gaping whole within his mouth. The salty, acidic taste was nothing short of displeasing to his tongue. His own blood, after all, lacked any of the pleasure of Risque's own. That wound was sure to heal quickly, his vampiric species near demanding it and yet, in that moment, his gums were little more than a fountain of red. The tooth within Risque's fingers was distinct proof of her victory as Darcy eyed it near warily. The cowboy insisted near sulkily that he surely loved her less in that moment- if only for the fashion in which she had torn the fang from his head. Those very words coaxed a simper to her own lips as she mused at the notion of his apparently fickle love. A love that has so seemingly earned him a reward all the same. How readily that very notion seemed to ensnare his attention. Darcy's mismatched gaze nearly instantly flashed sideways to meet her own. How utterly....human such a reaction so surely was. Indeed, perhaps it was near typical of his very gender in every regard. That pain so readily cast aside in favor of this promised 'reward'. She intended to reward him? A wary and yet wholly...curious expression so settled upon his features and yet it was the feel of that gaping hole within his head that prompted the cowboy's jaws to part once more. Darcy was content to offer his lover a view of that wound- if only because he desired to know just how big that hole was and too, he knew how readily such....macabre details seemed to fascinate his beloved. Risque, for as long as he had known her, so eternally seemed to delight in bloodied gore of any kind. That offer to take a closer look so readily seemed to ensnare her attention in turn as the vampiric queen eagerly peered between his jaws.

Risque's assurance that there was far too much blood in the way seemed to prompt a grunt of sorts from the southern vampire. Darcy, in that moment, so briefly closed his mouth once more if only to swallow. His tongue, in turn, swept across that wound. Darcy swallowed as much of that displeasing blood as he could before opening his mouth once more to offer his lover a far less hampered view. Risque seemed near silent at that moment. That vampiric woman so evidently considered that wound before abruptly declaring it.....distinguished. Darcy's own eyes were quick to rise. The vampire so hardly had anticipated that description as his lips fell back over his fangs. His jaws closed again a moment later.

"Distinguished, eh? Dat Ain't what I was 'specting yar to say."

His own words were little more than a musing, Darcy's gaze content to rest upon his lover's features as Risque, still nestled within his lap, seemed almost pensive once more. The vampire woman near abruptly declared he needed to feed. Darcy's head nodded.

"I'll go down to da basement."

They were hardly in short supply of feeders. They had restocked only the week before. Some of the older, weaker ones would surely be approaching their use by date. Risque so hardly seemed to mind when he drained one of them entirely. His lover's mention of that feeding so readily seemed to prompt that hunger back to the forefront of his mind. A hunger that only seemed to increase with the blood that still ran freely from his gums. The sooner he fed the sooner that wound would begin to heal and that fang began to grow back. The sooner that tooth re-grew the better. Darcy so already assured all of Syn would know about his....missing appendage by the end of the evening. How fucking irritating. The soft hum of his lover's words drew his gaze upward once more. Risque so abruptly offering her own blood. That wound, she insisted, would heal faster with her within his veins. Yet- never before had she offered him her own blood so purely to feed. To heal. To take for anything other then the ecstasy of sex and the pain that came with it. This.....was a far more significant offer than had ever been made before. To freely offer her blood for him to feed, to fill his veins, was more then she had ever given. How readily his hunger seemed to spike at that offer. A fresh wave of saliva all but coating his tongue in sheer anticipation and yet how assuredly his gaze lingered upon the hypnotic blue of her own as if searching for....something within it.
Hmmm.

Maybe she really did love him. Then again had he ever truly doubted it?

The faintest of simpers tugged loosely at the corner of his lips. Darcy, in that moment, so hardly giving away his thoughts of what had prompted that faint simper before Risque's insistence that his lacking love might surely coax him to bite her, seemed to widen that grin upon his lips. That hint of playfulness one he was wholly willing to seize upon as her hand dropped from his chest in a subtle and yet silent offer of freedom. Darcy;s own figure shifted, his hands easily dropping to his lover's waist as he moved to sit upward once more, his lips suddenly and yet eagerly pressing to her own in a surprisingly tender and yet distinctly passionate kiss. God but her lips tasted incredible. They always had. His hands upon her waist seemed to grip her only more firmly, Darcy seeming to deepen that kiss before pulling ever so slightly backward.

"Risque..."

That utterance of her name was almost....reverent. A prayer. A desire. A want.And yet something more in turn as he leant forward again, the sound of her name so seeming to linger within the air as his lips pressed to the delicate flesh of her throat, peppering that sensitive skin in fine kisses- working a sensual trail that slide seductively to her neck. Darcy, this time, allowing the very tips of his fangs to run teasingly across her porcelain flesh. He could taste her very skin. The scent of her was wholly overwhelming at that moment. The southern vampire so daring to allow his tongue to sweep her skin as if he could taste the blood beneath.

"I know."

Those words were nearly uttered agianst her skin within that infamous southern drawl so unique to Darcy alone as his lips pressed in a final kiss to that tender flesh. The ravager vampire so readily located that vein beneath that he desired. His words, it seemed, were wholly destined to hover upon the promise of a kiss. He knew. Yet what he knew remained to be seen.

"....I know ya love me. Now dun be flinchin' none."

Those final words were no sooner free of his lips then Darcy moved to bite down. Those rows upon rows of sharpened fangs punctured into his lover's flesh with a searching, sudden intensity. One that rewarded him instantly with that flow of blood he all but craved. Blood his mate had offered freely.That very act a level of intimacy so...unexplored until now as Darcy's girp upon his lover tightened once more, drawing Risque closer into him, agianst him as the flow of that glorious blood ran near steadily down his throat. His teeth unrelenting in their hold as that warning not to attempt to flinch was preceded by those words he was certain were true- even if his mate remained determined not to say them. He would say them for her.

Darcy

I'm wanted, Dead or Alive