How desperately he desired her in those moments. His mismatched gaze fixated upon her slender figure as she all but prowled towards him, gliding across the floor to circle around him like a siren. That dress she wore all but clung to her figure so highling every curve and swell he knew existed underneath. It had been to long since he had last had her. Far to long. His very body was so desperately attuned to her touch that he craved it like a mortal craved air. He more than wanted her in that moment. He needed her and her attention. She had to know, didn't she? Just how desperately he desired to worship her? She was against him then, as if she did, suddenly, her glorious figure pressed into his side until there was no space left between them. How readily he responded to her presence let alone her touch! That first brush off her fingers against his neck prompting that slight hitch to his breath. His body utterly trained to respond near exactly as she desired after all those years. That wound, it seemed, was destined to fascinate her. Her press upon his head so prompting him to obediently offer her his vulnerable neck to examine. Those pale scars crossing his flesh. That very flesh seeming to rise beneath her soft caress. She presses only closer then. Darcy intensely aware of her hand as it teased at the bottom off his jacket. Surely she was not teasing him tonight, surely not.
That inquiry is nearly whispered against his flesh. Darcy forced to fight that veritable haze of utter last to offer her an answer. That Southern drawl that so laced his words seeming all the thicker in those moments in which simple want seemed to flood his body and fill his veins. That accent had hardly dulled over the years despite how long they had been away from the South. His answer, in the least, seemed to please her as she utters her intrigue before offering him that dearly craved praise on his ability to survive. That, alone, perhaps his greatest of talents. He had survived his own turning. He had survived the war, the destruction off his coven and then, for well over one hundred and fifty years- he had survived her. Survival, it seemed, was his game in near the same manner as that seduction was her own. That insistence that, tonight, she liked him damaged prompted that soft sound of satisfaction within his throat before her lips seemed to ver just above his flesh. He could feel them there, tempting, tormenting with what he knew they could offer him before they all but brush against his sensitive skin. He knew what she considered in those moments. Darcy welcoming that bite in turn. It would hardly be the first time he had felt her teeth. Those intimate moments between them so often seeing him share his blood with his Queen at her leisure. His hand was daring then, brushing down her side to rest at her waist, Darcy near intently aware off her every reaction in that moment- this a delicate and dangerous game to play. Reading her moods, reading her emotions here and now so decidedly...critical to his success. The simple, suggestive lift of one perfect brow prompting that twitch off his own lip in turn as he tugged her closer- only for that voice upon the other side of the door to obliterate that moment.
How quickly his demeanor changed. Darcy inclined to something near feral in that moment. That reaction nothing short of animalistic as Risque stepped away from him and the vampire near pivoted in place to allow that horrific snarl to spit free of his throat, those fangs bared like an animal towards that door and offending Warlock behind it. Darcy, in that moment, displaying every bit of volatility that twisted and writhed within him. That utter possessiveness when it came to his Mistress strikingly clear in that moment. How dare that Warlock interrupt him. How dare that hateful, sweaty little man tread upon his territory and near his woman? Oh how darkly those thoughts turned within his mind. That utter hate hissing and coiling within him for a man he hardly knew and yet one whom had committed that ultimate sin- distracting Risques attention from him. That soft utterance of his mistresses voice so at last seems to distract him, his mismatched gaze cutting sideways and towards her as a final hiss echoes from within the depths off his throat and his lips fall over his unusual fangs. His volatility, tonight, seemed to intrigue her before that soft promise the night was still young dared to foster a flicker of hope within him still. Perhaps, once they were done with the sweating fool of a man now entering the office he might coax that mood back once more.
The sudden mention of a theft, however, prompted a shift in even the darkened designs off his own mind. Darcy glancing towards that place even he knew that lamp so often rested to find it gone. Risque insisted it had been a brazen theft, one that had occured right under her nose. They were not stolen from. Not ever. He would find what utter imbecile had been patrolling that night to begin with. That was where he would start his questions. Yes.How did one miss a lamp being carried out of that maze of corridors? Someone, somewhere, knew something. Then he would see to fortifying his beloved's office further. Darcy quick to assure her he would see to it. Risque commanding him to take what resources he needed before issuing those orders on what was to be done if and when that culprit was found. His head dipped again.
His own figure shifted away and toward that 'guest' chair within the office then, affording that idiot Warlock space to work. His very presence, he knew, destabilising the fellow and yet he hardly cared to alleviate it. That stench of fear was as potent and displeasing as that stench of sweat and yet how it caressed that inner predator within himself in turn. His eyes following that man around the room with a certain....sickening hunger. One underpinned by that territorialism all the same. How long did this take? Was this fool truly doing anything or was he merely playing with them? Risque's own lithe figure eased itself to lean like a vision against her desk and toy with those kits he had gifted her, her fingers stroking through their soft fur in such a fashion to prompt that near pang of jealousy within him once more. His gaze fixated, briefly, upon each of those sensuous strokes before his attention returned begrudgingly to the moronic man whom seemed to be doing anything but finding answers. That time dragging on and on until, finally, the Warlock cleared his throat. That very sound pressing against Darcy's final and fleeting tendrils of patience for the man whom had cost him his beloved's touch. That commanded to speak all but barked towards him. Darcy refusing to allow him to waste any more of their time tonight.
Those stuttering, blundering words they were given by way of response were....dissatisfying. The Warlock claiming either a human, an abnormally powerful supernatural or the lamp itself were to blame for its disappearance. Darcy's gaze narrowing further and further with each fucking stupid word that left this mans mouth. That silence persisted for barely a moment before his own southern lined lyrics echoed within that room, his voice dipped in sarcasm as he queried the lamps motivations for abandoning its post like the deserter it apparently was. His gaze shifted to Risque then. That decision hers alone. That singular look he was afforded in return so prompting the faintest of simpers to his lips as his eyes returned to the Warlock before him. Oh, how eagerly he desired what was to come. That anticipation so suddenly seeming to hum in the air between both vampires then. Darcy readily feeding off that violent intent he knew so lined Risques figure now even if few others could disconcert it. He could near smell her intention. Those words had no sooner fallen from her lips then she had moved, that speed a blur to mortal eyes as she appeared behind him. The little man crying out in surprise as he spun to face his assailant. How unfortunate he was watching the wrong vampire.
Darcy had already risen to his feet, the vampire moving in near the same moment as that command was issued- as if he had well anticipated it. Darcy nothing if not attuned to his Mistress' wants. His hand reached out, seizing the man by the back of his shirt, his grip tightening upon that clothing until it it begun to cut at the man's neck and throat as he all but squealed his panic. Darcy so taking that opportunity to lean down toward that much shorter man within his grasp, his nose running along the man's neck in a gesture that seemed near sickeningly intimate before that vampire inhaled. That main vein near instantly located. That very gesture seeming to catapult the Warlocks fear to unfathomable levels. Darcy nothing if not decidedly practiced in....torment.
"Shall we 'ave just a taste of ya eh?"
His head tilted just so, his grip like iron upon that struggling man before his lips parted, letting his tongue run the length of that very vulnerable vein in the man's neck. The warlock screaming even despite that lack of teeth that pierced his flesh. How much more he would have screamed if he'd bitten him. Darcy's fangs unlike any other and so designed to ravage rather then merely feed. Those very screams cut off as Darcy leaned away, that liquid chuckle humming within his throat as he stood upright once more, lifting that warlock with him, the man hanging comically by the scruff of his own shirt as his legs frantically failed and those choking sounds filled the office. Darcy so lowering the man just enough to allow his toes to scrap that carpet if only to watch his little legs flail once more before lifting him higher again in some twisted little game. Risque sure to tell him off for playing with his food. Especially before she had paid the man what he was owed. That Warlock all but pleading now as Darcy simply held him, dangling like a fish from a rod to be used at Risques pleasure. His own gaze turned to his beloved then as she reached for that money he had gifted her earlier that evening. How fascinating it was to watch her. How it only made him desire her more. How readily he so enjoyed having that squirming man within his grasp to punish him for all his indiscretions tonight. That predator within himself so practically purring. A soft sound from Risque's desk drawing his attention, both those kittens perched upon the edge to watch with curiosity. The creatures likely fascinated by the mans flailing. Darcy speaking then as if that man in his hands barely existed. His life hardly even worth the respect of acknowledgement.
"Naaw, look darlin' dem kits wanta help yar pay da man his dues."
d a r c y
and i'll stay alive, just to follow you home