Risque allowed him access to the long slender slope of her temporarily heated neck, his cool lips leaving tokens of affection lost onto the surface of her skin. His cool flesh felt appealing then, the contrast enticing should her evening been without the betrayal, it could have been written so very differently. That closeness was tolerated despite the thoughts that moved dangerously in her mind of that day, even despite those final attempts to salvage it. She had plenty of time sooth that irritation that built like static within her. Dawn's closeness surely helped too. It had been a long night for them both. Tonight had been one of their busiest of nights, which meant money. She didn't need to look at the numbers to know it. Risque could simply tell with one glance alone just what kind of night it was. She tilted her head to allow him access, her hair giving way to gravity, brushing against the bare planes of her back like an invitation. Although, that invitation always had some level of risk, but not tonight, as she welcomed that greeting as if only to draw him closer, to relish in the copious scents that clung to him, people, drinks, blood. It all told an intricate story upon his skin that she pieces together like a puzzle and somewhere buried beneath them all was him. It was as though she could scent out those very interactions, and coil herself around the very time apart in a possessive kind of way as if seeking something amiss just as he marked her in his own way. All she needed was but a single thread to unravel it quickly and yet he hadn't disappointed her yet. She could smell the blood on his breath, the pallor to his skin betrayed he had gorged on that lifeforce, an indication of the spoils of victory. That slight press of her body into that embrace, just to tug just a little more, the slighted nuance as she drew him into her, as though she could entirely consume him until he was nothing but a husk. Darcy ever cautiously placed his hands in such a way that should she grow volatile from that touch, he could yield. For the briefest of moments, she allowed her fingers to caress against his own, that pressed through the plush dampness of that towel. That caress could have been seen as accidental, but nothing with her ever was. It was like she could feel that desire to bite, the way he hesitated just so upon his favoured spot betrayed him probably more than he ever realized.
After all, it was clear that those longer regimens so close to sleep were often reserved for those particularly unpleasant nights where irritation fueled her actions. Despite that promise for new cats upon the horizon, her mind still drew to the fool she had ended, those words echoing within her head. Cade a continual thorn in her side had surfaced again, this time blatantly approaching one of hers. Now, if her employee had been more of a worthy man, she could have used him, to feed Cade with lies of her choosing. He was not. He would just as easily have sold her out to him, a man driven by greed alone was unworthy of incentivizing. Plus, he had tried to play her for a fool which only indicated he was not a man at all. There would be more opportunities to ensnare her troublesome nemesis, there always were. The fact that he was looking for an in, would make it easy. Her wicked mind focused if not to perhaps place a very noose around Cade's throat. If he were looking for another way in. Perhaps, she should supply it. Those very possibilities were not intended so close to dawn, no. Instead, she allowed that focus to hone upon her lover. The wicked woman in no short of ideas she could spend the remaining moments before the sun imposed its familiar heaviness, while she could fight it, she desired that sleep.
It was that singular question that prompted her attentions toward that cream. Of course, she had thought that even without the label, it was quite obvious what it was. He shifted toward her side, next to her place within that mirror, the lingering scent of her shower still remained. She had kept his own enhanced routine somewhat simple, the man hardly allowed himself to object her in this. She showed him just what to do before her gaze caught the loud colour of his boxers. She had seen this pair before but it was no less surprising. What a peculiar choice it was. Risque could only assume it had to do with luck. The woman hardly considered the thought that he actually liked them.
It prompted that question and that look. Lost in a wave of amusement and conflict with what she thought of that bizarre print. There was no such thing as luck, it was a figment for fools to cling to, nothing more. Darcy was not a fool, most of the time. There was a reason why Darcy won his card games. Just as there was a reason why every enemy who crossed her path had been vanquished, lost to the sands of time. It was all a series of choice, nuance, knowing how to read your enemy, to know the outcomes before them. How survival for them seemed so similar to his games. How she considered it more like a game of chess. His response, she already knew well. She had seen it first hand, watched him play and destroy men with so much as barely raising a finger. A hum formed in contemplation as he wove his darkly uttered words. But that was hardly what she cared to know. She had seen him play on numerous occasions. "Of course, I know how you operate. You would not be in this very room if you were a superstitious fool. But what I cannot figure out is why you have a cactus and a horse on your undergarments." Finally, the real reason why she was poking and prodding emerged. Subtlety seemed to be lost on him. Surely they served some purpose. Her gaze seemed to linger on them. They weren't entirely displeasing, they fit him well. But for the life of her, she couldn't understand them or why she didn't hate them herself. The colours alone were dreadful.
He could rid people of their money, make them bleed, challenge any fool who dared to challenge him to a gunfight, but none of it was a substitute for a clean face before bed or moisturizing. How quickly that glint seemed to fade before executing that very task.
That topic soon shifted to Game of Thrones, his opinions on the dragon girl nearly drew a scoff to her lips. She was supremely flawed, but it was just as a man to be distracted by the larger picture. That claim that she 'gets shit done' was not enough to persuade her. "She 'appears' that way."She emphasized that word appear but did not elaborate. But there was so much more to that story, it was all in the details. The young arrogant girl hardly knew who she was! She knew what she wanted, power and control of the iron throne. But she was so terribly young, unsure of her own actions. If not for the dragons, she would have been squashed like the bug she was, forgotten like the rest of her family. At the very least she was a deceptive liar. Supposedly freeing slaves only to enslave them to her. It was a smart ploy wasted on her. She would be an easy one to break, especially separated from those dragons she was just as weakwilled, easy to be manipulated girl she started off as. She swirled the wine in her glass absentmindedly, as if she enjoyed the distraction of idle chitchat. How odd it was that she would get enjoyment from it. As much as she enjoyed the carnage of that show and its dark political intrigue. She desired something a little more mindless while she allowed her mind to shift to other things. She needed not to be reminded of her own war just yet. That conversation perhaps did spark an idea. She drew in that divine drink, her finger toying idly with that glass as a slight wicked curl to her own lips just barely prevailed.
It was then that she suddenly she stepped away from that countertop before she allowed that very towel to fall away from her dried figure and placed it upon that waiting empty hook. She moved toward her closet, while Darcy submit to that new cream. Risque enjoyed the freedom of nudity, enjoyed the feel of the air upon her naked flesh, blissfully unaware how it seemed to affect her mate's body. She walked away toward the confines of her closet. lost to her own distracted thoughts. She usually chose a slinky slip, lingerie or nothing at all, tonight an altogether strange night. She stole another mouthful that saw to the last drop of her wine glass, choosing that very attire that sought to contain that warmth that even now, fled her body. Darcy saw to the task of retrieving his own glass of that wine as she suggested he do.
She too planned on indulging in just one more, she hardly wanted to get that fairy blood high knowing how well it tended to go straight to her head if she drank too much. As Darcy poured himself his own glass, he drew it to sniff it almost curiously. She could already tell it piqued his interest, that exotic blood alluring in that rare way. That satisfaction rumbled from within her cowboy's chest the moment that blood touched his tastebuds, just as she knew it would, any vampire would salivate at even the scent of it, the wine alone would have cost a fortune but mixed with the fae blood it was a true treat. That question on if they had this wine before. Certainly, he would remember if they had. She called from the other room she still lingered in. "Non, it's a bottle of vintage French wine, blended with Fae blood." She replied simply, in nonchalance even if she knew that its cost alone would have made his skin crawl. That inquiry of coming to bed saw her to emerge from that other room in her newfound attire. She wore it without shame. Not a soul besides her felines had ever seen in this particular set of sleeping attire. She could see Darcy had already grown quite comfortable within the comfortable depths of that bed. It still felt odd having to share that bed, the sight of him within it not unpleasant in the least. "Mmhmm. I need more wine." She responded idly, gliding across that room with that wine glass hanging precariously between her fingertips. She filled up that glass with the last of that contents, that liquid near filling her entire glass, only then did she move toward the bed. She placed it upon that dark-wood, nearly stained entirely black side table, perched next to that thick, old leather book with a bookmark placed securely tucked away close to that old spine somewhere in the middle of 'Le Comte de Monte-Cristo'. Her stationary perched upon that book too with her pen, the woman in the middle of quite a heated, opinionated letter to the government of France.
The show had already begun, the bed sheets already peeled back and waiting for her, choosing to sit upright, propped up against her pillows. That bed was massive even with two vampires inside of it. She watched with half interest. The judges, it would seem so biased to the women that were made to look more like men, they called it androgeny. How she failed to see the appeal. A woman was designed to look like a woman. Why push to make her look more like a man? "Why women are chopping off all their hair to look more like men I will never understand." She clicked her tongue in disapproval, as she reached for her wine uttering something unpleasant in her mother tongue. How unflattering that night's outfits were. She wondered if the favoured girl were given the better outfits simply to set the others up for failure. The whole show she was suddenly sure was rigged, she was sure of it. She shifted so that she now sat cross-legged with her legs placed under that black high thread count duvet. Of course, she had no problem uttering french insults at the tv and no shortage of opinions. There was only one contestant, that seemed to hold any kind of interest to her at all. The woman knew how to play the game, she possessed a certain cunning the other did not. She watched and waited to make her move before she struck ruthlessly to get a one-up on the ladies that were wrapped up in their foolish dramas.
Although, irritatingly enough, she hardly got much screen time. One of the women burst into blatant tears because she had a hard time posing with the male model. Pitiful. She didn't want to touch his topless body, some kind of blasphemous excuse about religion. She even stomped offset in a tizzy, blatantly and desperately she cried out for attention. She got it with a reputation to ruin her own career. She was a liar, a poor one, looking for sympathy simply because she wore the clothes horrendously, and she didn't know how to pose with a man. She was awkward, lacking confidence and fueling on peoples praise alone. She deserved to choke. That temper tantrum was only because she didn't cut it and she hardly wished to hear it. She would be dismissed from that competition, it was obvious. Risque saw fit to judge her endlessly as the show desperately dramatized her exit, black mascara smeared down her cheeks. Risque was quite certain that pathetic woman couldn't fuck anything to completion, not even herself.
Princess seemed content to join them on the foot of the bed as if guarding her perch upon it at the foot of it. Now that was new. She said nothing of it, for now, the feline well behaved and truly, she enjoyed the warmth of a feline from time to time. But never Darcy. Why now? Perhaps he was finally truly coming around to the beasts she controlled. She ignored the feline's hiss at the another that seemed to watch with a glaring gaze from across the room, those petty fights for rank amongst themselves were not entirely uncommon.
Darcy seemed intent to the task of scrolling on his phone, that show had long lost his interest unless she drew his attention to it. He seemed to pause at one article for a particularly long period of time while she only half paid attention. Perhaps the carnage would have been better than the sobbing nonsensical garbage that the television spewed. Suddenly, he drew her attention towards him, she eagerly gave up that show in lieu of what seemed to ensnare his attention. Darcy was skimming... gossip sites? She hardly cared that it was a reputable news site he was searching on. She leaned in toward him to get a better look of his phone then.
She took a long hard look at the supposed Crusnik. The chances of he actually being one, so very rare. Most hunted to extinction, she was sure of it, or terribly good at hiding. What was he even wearing? If he was what the article claimed, he hardly looked even remotely frightening. She scowled at his distasteful outfit alone. He should have been executed for his poor sense in fashion. Leon would have a field day with it. "Crusnik's are rare enough that they are used as stories to tell fledgeling vampires to scare them. I find not many live long enough to ever cause a problem, their name is simply a generous calling for cannibalism. They are abominations to our kind, no vampire should survive off on vampire blood alone. I have only come across one in my time, he was dispatched of after taking out one of our own. He stalked me for weeks, he was good at hiding, but I knew he lingered in the shadows. That article... whether he is or isn't one, is a death sentence for him. He will be off the streets in no time. Although, I have an interest in capturing him if the opportunity arises. A pet Crusnik could prove.... useful. Perhaps I should put out a reward for his capture." She pondered out loud. After all, she had the empty cages. The knowledge of having one would certainly be a novelty in itself.
Darcy seemed so fixed on that guitarist, but her gaze shifted to that exceptionally-dressed prince. Oh, that was a particularly flattering photo, was that an Armani suit? Even though he was fully dressed, one could tell, he was gifted even beneath the clothing too. It was like Darcy could hear her own thoughts and that appreciation for the prince himself. 'He's gay' he explained as if that would suddenly make him any less unappealing. "I heard whispers, that he is an incubus. His preferred sexual orientation hardly matters. Anything is their type. I hear they are so sex-crazed, they are never able to find a semblance of satisfaction because they are always wanting, always at the ready and their bite...." She trailed off. Prince playboy, how cliche. But prince playboy belonging to a king, now that was intriguing. Their orgasmic bites have been known to be addictive.
An incubus married was unheard of. That blood would be worth millions along with being irresistible and a vampire had personal access to it... whenever he wanted it. It was a good ploy, even she had to admit. Not to mention that he furthered his own status and political standing by that union. It was a smart move. But the crown today hardly made so much an impact as it once did. A spectacle for the masses to become distracted by unimportant glitz and glamour. Gossip magazines and tabloids ate it up, only furthering the mockery in which it has become. All in all, it was simply a man parading in a crown. She had seen actual kings and queens, visited their very courts. She offered that fae king a lingering look, he was handsome for a king. Something about him seemed familiar, vague and distant as it were. She wondered if their paths had crossed at some point in time. Somehow. Somewhere.
She reached to ensnare his wrist, to pull Darcy's hand closer to her, narrowing her astute gaze upon that face of the king on his screen in his hand, zooming in on the face of that king. Darcy abruptly began to utter his grievances. She released her grip before her icy pale gaze snapped toward the feline who simply watched her cowboy with an admitted intense interest. Risque's gaze honed upon her lover then, staring at him in disbelief. A vague amusement flashed within her pale gaze. That ginger cat was nothing more than a rare oversized house cat. Princess was even larger than him. It was just as perplexing as those very boxers he wore.
"You said you were itching for a fight Darcy, perhaps he senses it." She goaded slightly, those words perhaps even teasing. " Don't be so 'paranoid'." The feline queen chided, even though she had to admit it was odd how fixated upon her lover that cat was. Even if he was small, especially in comparison to her much larger felines. But its claws barely came close to her mate's deadly fangs.
"Is the ghost of Gettysburg spooked by a house cat?" How those words were intended to bait him. Surely if anything to have made him on edge it would have been one of her tigers.
"Now that I think of it, I think you are right. He wants to challenge you for your side of the bed. Best sleep with one eye open, there is no telling what those baby claws might do. I assure you, my bite is far worse." Her lips peeled into a slight smile just so she could flash him those fangs before drawing more of that wine to her lips. " Admit he scares you and maybe... I will send him to another room." She paused briefly then, shifting upon that bed then calling to that feline to her. It obeyed leaping onto that bed and onto her own lap. She looked down on it as if deciding its own fate. Her free hand pressed into its thick soft fur, her own hand could have been lost to that very fur. Immediately it purred beneath its touch before glaring at Darcy with that intent filled promise.
"When the others get here, you will need to.." She stopped mid-sentence then, noticing a new male model on the screen. "Doesn't the male model look like Tetradore?"