As surprising - or unsurprising - as it would seem, the dark hunter had never really had a "friends with benefits" type of relationship with a woman. Excluding Isabelle of course, which has ultimately been doomed from the very beginning no matter how he might look back on that brief chapter of his life anymore, the blurred faces of the women who littered his past had never amounted to anything beyond one-night stand status. The man couldn't even count how many women he'd taken to bed in his young adult life honestly. It was hardly some sort of foolish, immature competition he might have had with past "friends" to see who could score the most lays, but Lazarus was fairly confident that by today's standards, he would probably be considered a womanizer. Did he care? No. Why should he? They could have turned him down, gods know that the dark hunter had experienced his fair share of rejections, but none had ever shake his arrogant confidence or managed to dissuade him from continuing his unrelenting and gluttonous hunt for female companionship. It was one of the only two things the man enjoyed in his life, and being the stubborn ass that he was to the very core, he wasn't about to call it quits. At least, that was what he'd always told Ellie and Donovan. And then, just like life seemed to enjoy doing to him, Vhal came crashing in and he hadn't been able to get her the fuck out of it since that night at the burlesque. Now, just because he couldn't get the white-haired witch didn't mean he would stop those distasteful habits of his. If anything, he was ever more adamant on hitting up those dance clubs and bars in search for a woman sexy enough - and willing enough - that might let him steal her sheets during those evening hours. Some were easy to win, and others gave him more of a run for his money, but the dark hunter was always up for a challenge, finding that those more fiery women were almost enough for him. Almost. Before Vhal, they would have been enough to satisfy him for the night. But again, that was before the damn witch. Now, no matter how much whiskey or sex he greedily indulged his male tendencies in, it was never enough and he hated it.

Now, it seemed that the animosity which had once been so fierce and obvious between the man and woman in the bathroom together was gone. It was almost like it has never even existed to begin with. Hell, he was almost able to forget entirely about the warped skin on his chest where her hand had once burned him when she'd handed his ass to him that first night. On those nights where he would lay there on his bed in a drunken haze in nothing but a pair of boxers, strong hands would brush against the scar as if touching it would give him that control over his own mind again, that rage she used to so effortlessly instill in him would roar back to life and he's be able to pretend he'd never felt a damn thing towards her. It never worked, though. Not for long. Sure, he'd be able to scrounge up a source of frustration and irritability that she'd been able to put him on his back all because he made a few snide remarks she hadn't been able to handle for whatever reason, but that seemed to be the extent of what he could summon forth anymore. Now, he seems to have developed an infuriating sort of attraction insatiable hunger and lust for her that made it damn near impossible not to think about her and that night when he'd made her his for the night, the beast within Lazarus ravaging her with wicked satisfaction. If only he'd been a little more sober that night, hadn't taken that first taste of her... Maybe he wouldn't even be here. Or as he just lying to himself again? He didn't even know anymore. It was getting to a point where he almost didn't give a shit about trying to hang onto how he was in the past, that part of him which was always content to ravage any pretty woman that would look his way, that side of him that wanted so desperately to hate her with a fiery passion like he used to so that he could maintain his loathsome lifestyle of sex and alcohol where there were no second encounters, stubbornly refused to give anyone the chance to make him feel.

Instead, he was in her shower, a wolfish grin etched into his chiseled features as he relished in the hot water that fell over his toned frame as he could hear her words ushered in response to his taunting."I'm definitely starting to see that", he remarks with cooly, the faintest note of amusement filling those tenor tones. When he reaches for the shower knobs and turns off the running water before drying himself and stepping out of the glas door only to be met by those wandering blue eyes that seemed to enjoy the defined muscle of his chest and stomach, the man giving her a wicked and wolfish smirk as he taunts her yet again, he is greeted by that last smile before she offers him an answer that forcing a short-lived and deep chuckle from the dark hunter."I warned you not to expect anything else", he says cooly then as he gives a shrug of his broad shoulders before walking over to where the soaked clothes rested in a watery pile. Bantering. That's exactly what was happening right now. How absolutely... he didn't even know what to say or how to feel other than frustrated. Then again, it was practically forced beneath the mildly amused glimmer in his dark forest gaze. Even when she decided to tell him just as he's picking up her sexy as fuck form-fitting suit she so often wore that there were bombs in it. I mean, what did you really expect? She's a trained assassin idiot. She gives him another coy smile as he sets it gently back on the floor as she so nonchalantly goes on to explain just what it was that she was carrying, her last string of words having Lazarus roll his eyes at the woman contentedly soaking in the steaming bath water."Like you really would have stopped me", he counters effortlessly then almost before he realizes what those words falling from his lips would imply, an almost subconscious reminder of that night and yet he does not shy away from that memory in this moment as he almost dares for her to tell him he was wrong. At this point, it was the only ammunition his mind could find against her, almost trying one last time to ignite that hate that once existed so fiercely between them.

Before things get too far, he'd eager to slip out the door after his less-than-Lazarus-like gesture and down the hall towards the dryer before settling onto the couch where he allows for his mind to - try - and just go blank with nothingness. But, of course, he fails to accomplish even that as his mind battles against itself in a way that it never had to before. Then again, it was never divided in such a way before either, his wants and desires always on the same side instead of so clearly torn between hanging on to what he had before Sacrosanct and what he couldn't seem to ignore now despite those fiercely stubborn attempts he was almost constantly making. It was infuriating, which in turn was exhausting as he would try and hang on to that one feeling he was so accustomed to. Which in and of itself was also infuriating. It was like a vicious fucking cycle of failed attempts and tantalizing flickers of agitation he couldn't keep alive against that onslaught of lust that had him craving her. The sound of Vhalla stirring has him grudgingly pulled back to the present, her scent growing stronger and forcing him to open his dark forest gaze as he senses her presence in the room. Easily catching those familiar sweatpants in one hand and slipping into them, he settles back into the couch beside the woman now almost entirely engulfed in the blanket she wraps around her more slender frame. He subtling shifts beneath that discomfort, but he does nothing more as he tilts his head back and allows for his eyes to close once again after that wolfish grin and rumbling chuckle followed by his taunting remark. He can feel her stare on his skin though, and her playful verbal jab so lacking in that fire she was always eager to snap at him with again pulls a deep note of laughter from the dark hunter though he doesn't bother to open his eyes as he feels his body slowly beginning to... relax, despite its previous tension at Vhalla's nearness.

Again he can feel another shudder rushing through the white-haired woman, those vibrations resonating through the material of the couch, the man refusing to give in to that prick of concern that almost has him opening his dark forest gaze and eye her carefully. Her heartbeat was fine, and she wasn't shivering as viciously as she had been before they managed to get her into that warm bath water, so he shoves away that annoying shift within himself and focuses harder on his own breathing simply as a distraction. What he didn't expect though was for that sudden pressure in his side, dark eyes flying open out of surprise as he lifts his head to watch as she curls into him, her head resting against his chest. He knew she was only after warmth, and it was that mental reminder that keeps him from trying to shift away from her despite his clear discontentment. His own tension lasts for a moment longer than her own, her words seeming to announce that this was nothing more than it was; her desire to warm herself for the lack of her ability to find that affinity she wielded. Steadily, her shivering stills and there is a sigh of relief that tickles his bare skin and just when he was hoping that she would move away, her next words have him inwardly groaning, though still he says nothing. He glances down to her when those two foreign words fall softly from her lips, surprising him once again as she thanks him."Sure thing...", he answers almost warily as she seems to lean ever farther into him. It is then that her breathing slows, her heartbeat following suit as she mutters softly under her breath once more."Why do I not believe you?", Lazarus mumbles as he looks down to her, tenor tones falling on deaf ears as she fails to respond. A sigh rolls through the dark hunter as he helplessly sat there with Vhal sound asleep against him, dark forest eyes lingering over her. And then, there it was again, that... feeling. She looks so.... Without thinking, he lowers his arm to wrap it around her shoulder - more specifically the blanket to bring it tighter around the white-haired woman, or so he told himself. The slowness of her breathing begins to work on the man now and soon his own eyes grow heavy, his head tilting into the back of that couch, chiseled chest rising and falling ever softer until his mind is embraced by that quiet and still darkness.