How many times he had felt those fangs before- in both pain and pleasure. Those stabbing pointed tips like sharpened blackthorns puncturing and ravaging as his flesh again and again, over and over until it cannot help but yield to weep and bleed. That blood running thickly across his skin to pool beneath him atop that mahogany desk to soak and stain his clothing. So much of that meal he had just had was being wasted and yet his mind hardly considered it in that moment. He knew what she desired. He, of all beings, understood that need for utter possession and to remove that stain Tetradore had left upon him and yet- though it is surely her fangs that slice his flesh and send those spears of agonising pain through his figure over and over- it is Tetradore he blames. As if his wicked mind so simply refused to accept any other logic or reason for his Mistresses actions. Everything was Tetradores fault. It always was. That utter hatred for that other man curling darkly and more dangerously within himself like a vile serpent with each tear off her fangs before Risque finally ends her assault and simply settles to feed. His own hand loosened upon the desk where he had gripped it in response to that pain, his figure stilling beneath her now as she drew mouthful after mouthful off that blood from his willing veins. That action alone only further seemed to insitage that want and lust that still simmered within his figure. The intimacy of sharing that blood, unwilling or otherwise, so coaxing those very needs within the man, needs that were hardly quelled by her violent intent and only further by that carnival of carnage that surrounded them. That soft sound of pleasure escaping him then. How entirely awake that predator within him was- and how utterly determined it was to coax that same response from Risque in turn in that daring dance that Darcy was one of the few so bold enough to play.

That singular word falls from her blooded lips. How enticing the sight off his own blood upon her was and yet that very word held within it every bit of lustful desire he near craved in turn. That vampire quick to seek to soothe those irritations that prickled at his lovers skin and offer her not only that reassurance off his undying loyalty but too- that very promise she could mark his flesh each and every day with her own bitten brand until those scars become permanent if she desired it. How much he might welcome that touch, that attention and that simple adoration. To have her all to himself. Her hand lifted then to rest agianst his cheek, her fingers dragging along the smooth, warm skin off his face. That touch a rare genteel caress and yet how readily he could still feel that power that hummed just below the surface of her cool fingers and enticing figure. How alluring it was. Darcy as eager for that pleasure she afforded him as much as he reached for that pain in turn- or so it would seem. His own southern lyrics prompt that ready response from her, those melodious tones insisting he might not survive such a thing as she and yet that very musing does little more then stir a ner fleeting simper to his lips. As if those very words were near a challenge to be answered. He had survived her so far after all. Perhaps he enjoyed that very game of life or death in turn. He so surely played it often enough.

He rises easily to his elbows then, propping himself up just enough to allow his lips to take that soft, lower cushion off her own between them. Darcy content then to draw that blood from her lip in that stolen kiss once more. The vampire relishing in that taste off himself upon her skin so intermingled with that rich tendri off a taste so uniquely her. That utter, diabolical possessiveness within him curling only more and more firmly around her in that moment. That very creature utterly feeding upon her closeness now and near purring its satisfaction. Her own tongue brushes across his far larger, doubled fangs, that soft gesture only encouraging him all the more as he pulls smoothly away. His head lowers this time to rest beneath her own and pattern the skin of her neck and throat in those sensual kisses that near worship that porcelain flesh in turn. His own fangs brush agianst that cool skin in a near tease of that promising pain, those tips raking agianst the surface as she leans willingly into that embrace and offers him only more. It is only now that his right hand lifts, his fingers sweeping across her exposed thigh before those touches become firmer and far more assured as they find the clasp of that garter belt. Each movement is nothing short of purposeful and assured and yet he ers upon that side of caution once more. Darcy hardly a fool even now when those pressing wants so positively ached within his very lions. Her moods capable of changing like the wind itself. That sudden, hissing command prompts that flicker of a simper once more agianst her flesh before his fingers instantly undo that first clasp, his hand sliding smoothly over her figure for the next. One side now readily unfastened within a matter of seconds.

That sudden grind off her figure agianst his own as she straddled him only seemed to, impossibly, only further coax his his body to that readiness. That utter want surely blatantly clear now, that movement off her hips so perfectly precise and perfectly practiced to coax that sound from within him. That sound a combination of groan and heated growl and yet it spoke of nothing but desire.His own hips shifting to press more willingly agianst her figure in search off that only greater friction. Darcy assured in that moment that his pants were nothing but in the way. Her words come once more then, insisting she would not ask him twice to meet those demands. That vampire needing no further persuasion now to return to that task with with a far more pressing and potent vigor. His left hand lifts now, doing as did the right, sweeping across her pale, cool thigh to swiftly release those remaining straps upon that garter belt as her own hand scraped agianst his chest. She plucks at each of those buttons, tugging them from his shirt one by one, that blood painting them both now as his lips work their way back up her neck in near reverence off her very skin- before that silver talon off her finger slices suddenly into his chest. That sudden pain prompting that swift jerk off his form. His shirt left hanging open now as she presses a hand to him again, leaning back from him jsut so, forcing him to relinquish her neck.

Her hips shift again then, rotating atop and agianst that very center of his desire. That effort to maintain control nothing short of utterly supreme. Darcy incapable of not allowing hips to shift beneath her in turn. Her eyes meeting his own once more now. She was nothing short of torturous. Wickedly and sinfully so. Yet she surely knew what she did to him in that moment. Her words demanding answers and yet his mind found itself near tangled within that haze of lust. How wicked she was. More so to ask him that very question and then only continue to tease as she leaned forward, her chest agianst the bare flesh- how much he desired her own skin in that moment- her tongue and lips licking and suckling at that blood that painted his own skin. Darcy forced to exhale that steadying, controlling breath. What did he desire tonight? How thick that accent became upon him in those moments of passion.

"Ya already know Darlin. You. All off you."

His own figure preses forward then, coaxing her to lean back as he sits up. His lips finding her own again to steal only more of that bloodied taste as his hands lift to cup her face in a gesture that appears almost loving and yet allows him to deepen that kiss just so- before that near rush of vampiric speed sees a sudden change to those positions. He appears near smoothly kneeling behind her then, Darcy seeking to coax her to lean back into him now as his fingers undo that dress and allow it to slide from her slender, glorious figure to pool like black obsidian around her waist with the help of his hands. That already loosened garter belt surely falling with it in an act of near perfectly planned precision as she leans more upright. Risque left adorned in that black brassiere alone as Darcy's hands so roved over her waist now, his fingers gloriously stroking over each perfect, feminine curve in a sheer appreciation of each sweet line he touched. How glorious her bare back felt agianst the hard plains off his own bare chest. That feeling of skin on skin only furthering that animalistic lust. His fingers painted those streaks of blood along her bodice as they moved. Those crimson lines a near macabre decoration painted upon that porcelain skin. One hand came to rest upon her stomach then, pressing her gently further back and holding her agianst him. Darcy once more dancing that line between submission and dominance. His head dipped once more, his lips pressed ardently to her neck then in those fervent kisses. Darcy, this time, holding no desire to make her wait any longer nor dare to have her command him again as his own lips abruptly parted to plunge those double-edged fangs suddenly into her own neck now. That pleasurable rumbling growl echoing within his throat as he did. That bite nothing short of strikingly painful- his fangs holding no ability for anything less- wicked, ravanging tools that they were.

That blood rushed to the surface then, spilling freely into his lips and mouth. Darcy drawing that single mouthful to allow it to run hotly down his throat, his eyes near fluttering closed in that sweet sensation. That taste of her beyond anything he knew. The sigh of his bitten brand upon her neck so utterly arousing in turn. His body more then ready to take what he desired. His free hand slid along her back then, unhooking that bra in a single, practiced flick to let it fall from her figure. His tongue swept across that bloodied wound at her neck, lapping still at that dripping wound. His arm loosely wrapped around her waist still in that thoroughly bloodied embrace. Darcy, in that singular moment, at near the very peak of that possessive, dangerous territorialism with his mistress so wrapped within that ironclad hold off his arms and that heated, sticky blood so coating them both and coating his tongue in that tender taste. The scent off her equally intoxicating. Her body an utter delight, a temple, a vision that he was determined to explore, appreciate and near worship in every way she might allow him.

d a r c y
and i'll stay alive, just to follow you home