How he adored it when she spoke like that. When she offered but even a hint of the intricate workings of her mind. Darcy, as he always had, inclined to marvel at her ability to understand those social politics and position climbing in a way he simply did not. She had always possessed that ability. A keenness of mind to understand the how or why of a person's choices and social status. That single nuance, perhaps, displayed that distinctly vast difference in what his own Mother would have called 'breeding'. Risque had come from a world in which social standing mattered- desperately so. She understood the ways in which a single word, or look or gesture seemed to mean so much more than it did. She understood those plays for power and hidden ambition that Darcy himself had never been forced to truly perceive beyond his own understanding of that vampiric hierarchy that existed within Syn and he sat so determinedly at the top of. Game Of Thrones was a near perfect example of his lovers ability to pick apart the intentions of others. Darcy, as always, left marvelling at her skill to do just that. She understood....motivations on a deeper level. The Southern vampire hardly uninclined to admit he found a fascination in her skill. Her very insistence on just why the Dragon Girl was not so good a choice as Cersai for that crown was clear and yet, in the end, none of them truly mattered without immortality to see their legacy through. How right she was- as always. Those beings had no true power. They merely perceived that they did.

Darcy's own thoughts further mulled over those words and the sheer intelligence of his mate when it came to those matters. Those very considerations inclined to last only so long as it took Risque to allow that towel to fall from her figure and expose each femanine curve and swell of her figure. He had taken her endless times over the years he had been at her side and yet that want for her body never lessened. The mere sight of her prompting a dull ache to his own groin and yet....how quick she was to choose those very pajamas that signified her complete lack of interest in allowing him any such intimacy tonight. Darcy having learned long ago to respect the boundaries of the clothing she chose. The vampire having learned just which outfits invited his attention and which so silently demanded her space. A soft huff of displeasure was all the man allowed himself for now, the vampiric cowboy reaching instead to take that offered wine and lift it to his lips. That taste was nothing short of divine. His want for that alcohol was overshadowed by the blood that intermingled within it and so coaxed those claws of hunger to scrape at his throat. God that taste was fucking good. Risques' insistence that it was nothing less then French wine interlaid with Fae blood surely explained that taste. Darcy, for once, inclined to put aside his concerns over its cost to merely enjoy that satisfaction of that liquid upon his tongue. His mate quickly insisted it would settle within his mind.

His own mismatched gaze shifted toward the beside table in those moments that followed, the letter Risque had been determined to pen those past few evenings lay near finished atop the polished wooden surface. Darcy, tonight, content to inquire after that letter. After all, it was rare in every sense for his lover to write to anyone. Such things were usually reserved for those being she actually took some sort of favour in, those she was determined to signify her displeasure in and force them to find distress in her attention upon them- or those matters she deemed important enough to warrant her attention and penmanship. That wine, it seemed, had coaxed his mates' improved mood. The woman was content enough to share her plans with him tonight as she insisted that letter was for the Government of France itself and her determination to prevent that country she hailed from in being made a mockery off even if its leaders refused to see it. Her query on his own knowledge of France's National Animal met with a soft shake of his head.

"Naw, I ain't know much 'bout French animals. Is it a deer or summthin'?"

Old countries, along with those that considered themselves...prestigious, seemed to like assinging themselves useless fucking animals as symbols if only because they found them graceful or 'pretty' or in such fucking numbers they couldnt eradicate them. His own home state was hardly any better. Darcy inclined to frown even now at the white-tailed deer Georgia had chosen all those years ago. As if a Coonhound wouldn't have been better. The vampire settled within that bed and beside his mate then, another sip of that wine taken before the glass was placed on his own bedside table. Darcy content, for now, to browse the news on his phone as Risque eyed the contestants on that television program with judgemental disdain. The man quick to glance upward each time she offered her opinion. Darcy distinctly well....trained in responding instantly to her critiques of that program and its contestants as he readily agreed with her notion. Short hair on a woman was....ludercious. It simply wasn't the done thing. Not right. Darcy's gaze shifted briefly to his own mate and that midnight hair that fell across her shoulders. How he adored her, every part of her was simple perfection, a goddess made flesh and yet how it might have detracted from even Risque were she to cut her hair away. Those long ebony locks were so simply a part of her and that image of perfection he had known for so long.

Darcy's gaze shifted but briefly away from his phone once more as Princess spat her displeasure at a ginger tom whom lingered to close. That pair of felines content to war silently over the ideal territory of the bed. The vampire, in that moment, content to offer the ginger cat his own momentary glare of displeasure. The smaller feline, for now, withholding its distance. It was that next news story that drew the man's attention, Darcy easily summoning Risques attention in turn as he lent towards her, that phone held between them both to eye the picture of the Crusnik that stood with the Prince Of Italy himself. A Crusnik. Even Darcy, in all his years, had hardly met such a creature as that. The vampire inclined to find himself both curious and....disgusted by the creature. Risque, as he had anticipated, held a deeper knowledge of that very species of vampire- if such an abomination could even be called as such. His mate professed her interest in acquiring the Crusnik for her collection. Hmmm. Foul creature or otherwise if it was truly capable of felling other vampires as expertly as his research had claimed then it would not be unwise to add it to their arsenal. A Crusnik could take out half of Cade's army by itself and yet.....training the creature would no doubt prove....difficult. How irritating free will was, in every sense.That creature bound to rebel agianst captivity as they so often did and with a venom so toxic to vampire kind they would need a frequent replacement of staff. Then again- perhaps they could simply remove his fangs almost immediately and while he remained sedated. Those fangs would grow back of course and yet in that time that took the creature would be forced to rely on them for food. How quickly he could be taught respect if he desired to eat. Such motivation would surely see that muzzle training move more efficiently too. It was certainly doable- and a near excellent chance for Harley to prove her own loyalty.

Darcy's eyes shifted back to his mate once more with that offered plan. The southern vampire was nothing short of calculating. His mathematical mind content to weigh up that want his mate possessed and deem the most efficient way to achieve it and yet....there was surely something.....he was forgetting. How that Fae blood seemed to strike him then and settle well within his mind just as Risques had said it would. His thoughts, in that moment, seeming perhaps a little....lazy in their satisfaction at that glorious fucking taste he wanted only more off. Darcy reached easily for his wine once more as Risque insisted she could train that Crusnik herself in less time before she seemed to consider his plan once more, that contemplation followed by a ready insistence that she was reminded why she had chosen him all those years ago. Darcy, this time, unable to prevent that gin of pleasure that found his lips. Even the barest hint of praise, of satisfaction from his mate was near hopelessly desired. How he craved her attention and strove to please her. Her satisfaction in him was a truly desirable reward. Risque eagerly agreed to that plan a few moments later as Darcy nodded.

"I'll see to it dat its done, Darlin' Yar should have yar new pet within da week."

How readily he knew her loathing in being made to wait for any substantial amount of time. Darcy determined to see her wishes carried out quickly. He would summon Harley tomorrow night, then all that remained was tracking down the Crusnik. Such a thing unlikely to be difficult. Risques gaze seemed to linger upon that phone screen then, or more particularly, upon that incubus Prince. Darcy hardly finding any satisfaction in the sheer length of the stare his mate afforded that other vampire man. How quickly that jealousy rose within him like bile to the back of his throat. Darcy inclined to be simply....intolerable in every sense of his mate affording her attention, let alone her affection, to anyone else. Indeed, he had spent the better part of his life eliminating anyone he deemed a threat to his own position as his beloved's favourite. Risque's very insistence that Incubus so supposedly possessed equally supernatural talent between the sheets so did little to settle the cowboys irritated nerves. Darcy, in that moment, was near forced to swallow the hiss of displeasure that coiled like a viper within his throat. The man settling instead for that assurance the Prince of Italy possessed tiny fangs- among other things. That, in the least, seemed to satisfy Risques curiosity. Until she reached out to ensnare his own wrist. Drawing his hand and that phone closer to eye the Princes husband with that same practised stare. Hunger, surely, was all that motivated her attention then. Even Darcy inclined to admit he had considered just how glorious a well aged Fae might be when that blood was taken right from the vein itself.

That royal family however was soon forgotten in the wake of the ginger tabby whom had taken up his fucking staring all over again. Darcy, this time, unable to prevent that glower he offered the cat. His disdain for the animal clear and yet- how quick his lover was to seize upon it. That ginger tom prowled ever closer, summoned by his Mistress' silent whim as he leapt up and onto the bed. Risques efforts to coax that admittance of fear from Darcy himself met with a staunch determination to do otherwise. It would be foolish to admit weakness to her- in any form, at any time. Risque did not approve of weakness and a mere housecat would hardly cause such a slip of his tongue tonight. Indeed, would it not be fat better to ensnare his lover's attention elsewhere? Princess, ever ready to obey his own silent command had already slunk forward with a yowl of displeasure upon her lips. Both felines, in that moment, content to face one another with distinct disdain. Darcy, in that rare moment of boldness- offered his own mate that challenge. His pet agianst her own for the right to that very bed. That challenge, though no more than a game, far more daring than Darcy was so often inclined to be when that line between dominance and submission between themselves was often balanced so precariously. The notion of such a game however seemed to appeal to that vampiric Queen tonight as she near drained that glass of wine. The battle was unmatched and yet Darcy had known it from the beginning. After all- he so rarely gambled, not truly, the cowboy far better at ensuring those odds remained in his favour in all things. Risque, this evening, hardly seemed to mind such a thing. Rather- she sought to have that ginger tom prove itself and its right to rest upon the bed. How Darcy hoped his own pet tore it apart. Animal or not that cat seemed to take far too much satisfaction in the way it brushed along his mates figure and lent into her touches. Fucking cat.

Risque pushed that tom from her lap suddenly. Her voice cutting into the dark of the room to summon Mekel- the clouded Leopard had grown dramatically since Darcy had gifted her to his lover. Just as Princess had. Those kittens having grown with one another. That.....was a far more even match. Darcy suddenly inclined to find displeasure in those odds. Princess was faster and yet Mekel was heavier, each of them equipped with an entirely unique set of teeth. That challenge, Risque declared, would be between Princess and the ginger tom and yet the true challenge rested with Mekel- her very words near goading as Darcy glanced upward from his pet and towards his mate. Risque, in that moment, seeming to take a fiendish delight in taking his game and making it her own.

"We'll see, I reckon Prin can take 'er."

Maybe. That indecision however was kept firmly within himself. Darcy watched keenly as Princess began to face off with her first challenger- that ginger tom. Risque, in her own eagerness, knelt upward, the bed covers pooling at her knees as she watched those felines begin to circle. The warning yowls and experimentally hisses between the pair beginning to rise. Princess' own yowls holding that far more distinctive, feral sound. Both vampires, suddenly, distracted by that television as Risque proclaimed one of those beings upon ir note a resemblance to Tetradore. Darcy's attention shifted near instantly. His words very near a growl as he offered them. Tetradore. Even the boy's name alone was like a burn to his very skin. There was no one, man or woman, upon this very earth he loathed more then that fuucking panther. Risque was near....obsessed with him. Tetradore, to Darcy's mind, the only true rival for his lovers affection and attention he had ever possessed and how it scalded at his insides like a white fury. Risques wrath, and his fear of it, all that truly stayed his hand when it came to the Were man. How easily it would be to simply rip out his throat. Risque seemed to near lament those women that flocked to Tetradore again and again. Darcy offered a soft snort of scorn once more.

"Das 'ecause day tink hes got a pretty face."

A face Risque so continually forbade him to ruin. Darcy's teeth near grinned over one another as Risque seemed to ponder a new thought, the woman's voice breaking that silence once more only to have her sentence cut short by the eruption of hissing and spitting that broke from those felines as they finally clashed. That battle was short lived and yet utterly vicious. The sounds of growls and clashing claws interrupted only by the occasional clump of flying fur and those felines tangled. That ginger tom, for a moment, seemed to try to mount Princess- the female so evidently hardly permitting her opponent such a thing as that as her paw collided with his face and the pair were sent reeling once more. That ginger cat was at last thrown from the bed itself. Princess, in her victory, puffed out her very fur further before adding several final spits and stalking off to the nightstand to groom her fur back into place. Darcy, in that moment, daring to allow himself to smile as his mate declared princess the victor and that ginger cat banished from the room. Hmmm. Good. It deserved it. How very smugly Darcy watched that cat slip from sight as Risque rose to her feet to stand atop that plush mattress, her toe nudging at him then, demanding his attention. How quick Darcy was to afford it to her.

"As yar wish."

His phone was easily turned off for the night and placed on the charger beside his bed. Mekel, every ready for her turn, lingered on the floor still. Darcy's gaze shifted briefly from his lover, to Princess, to Mekel and back again. The vampiric cowboy contemplating for several moments.

"If yar want dat match ta be fair, Prin gotta 'ave a few mins ta rest."

Risque had been determined that match should be even, hadn't she? It was only fair that Princess was allowed to at least fix her fur once more. Cats seemed eternally....determined to assure no fur existed out of place. Darcy reached for his own wine then, the man draining those last few drops before his mismatched gaze shifted up to his lover once more. The vampire so eyeing that veritable goddess that was his mate as she stood above him. That wine so seeming to coax a near....contented feeling to his entire form. A lazy satisfaction with the world itself and a distinctly, dramatically rare moment of something almost....playful.

"Risque."

That word had no sooner been uttered, a distraction and little more, then his own vampiric speed took effect, the man's foot connecting with Risques own lower leg. That very strike was hardly firm, indeed, it would not leave even so much as a bruise. Rather, Darcy simply sought to knock Risques legs out from underneath her and send the woman toppling onto the softness of that bed. That very action was nothing short of daring. Indeed, it was far more daring then Darcy had ever chosen to be and yet that very wine had surely taken effect in those moments. Pushing those distinctly.....affectionate tendencies to the forefront of his mind. Darcy daring to do what he had not in over a century and a half. That change in his behaviour was nothing short of dramatic and yet.....that change in their relationship had reset those boundaries between them- even if only ever so slightly. Risque was his mate. That very thing alone so demanding from him that which had not been demanded before. Darcy, for the first time in well over a century content to....play. Risque had no sooner tumbled onto that bed then Darcy moved swiftly once more. The vampire nothing short of near blindingly fast even beneath the affliction of that alcohol as he rose momentarily above her before taking her hands in his own to so smoothly raise them above her head and pin her to that bed beneath him. His form straddling her own.

"Darlin' are yar sure Mekel and Prin was da real battle, eh?"

Those words were nothing short of tease, his form holding no effort for true dominance and indeed no true challenge nor force within his gaze or action. That entire maneuver was nothing short of a....game. A distinctly animalistic, instinctive, vampiric game and yet a game all the same. A chuckle easily rose from within the vampires throat then. Darcy leant down to run his fangs along the flesh of his lover's neck as if daring to bite her and yet.....his lips easily fell over his fangs once more. Darcy pressing a genuine and affectionate kiss to her skin. That very touch so hardly an effort to coax that intimacy from her (he knew far better than that). That gesture, too, no more than merely playful as he abruptly lent backwards, her hands released, Darcy flashing her that grin once more.

"I tink.....I'm winning."

After all.....he was the one on top. A true rarity and one he hardly expected to last. Darcy content to eye his mate near expectantly and yet...warily all the same just in case she did not take well to that game he tried to inspire within her.

We are rough men and used to rough ways.