For Adri, my wifey, 'cause It's her birthday!
Told you I'd write something in this universe. ;3
I have more planned for it, though that will be a completely different, multi-chapter story.
Hope you like it! Enjoy, everyone. xoxo
Kissing him was like inhaling and licking ice cubes all at once.
Each breath she took brought on a new sense of coolness that tickled her overly hot senses; the frosty breath tickling the skin of her lips and neck, wherever he may be breathing – which had surprised her at first, but then again, there was a lot she didn't know about real vampires.
Ones that didn't sparkle, start rock bands, or whatever.
He was like a living cool mint, and it both fanned and quelled the flames that burned through her veins.
She'd been lucky to have found him after he had, probably mistakenly, drank the blood from a mortal who was completely smashed to the core; and while the effects would not last insanely long on him, they would last long enough. Long enough for her to get the ridiculous fantasy out of her system, and hopefully, even his; sober, he would have never agreed to such notion, obviously.
They taunted and teased on the battlefield, and had their private moments of flirtation and threats – but they were natural born enemies, and especially for someone who had lived as long as he, it was hard to forget.
"Step away from me, Miss Lewis," She remembered him practically snarling at her, and yet, she continued to invade his space; becoming drunk on his unique scent of winter and mint.
It was dangerous, she knew; even if she had been more trained, more experience, Loki was a Vampire General, and could probably decommission her in less then two minutes…if he really wanted to. Which, to her, it seemed like he didn't. She licked her lips, and took another daring step closer. "No."
For a moment, all seemed to freeze. It was a cool fall day, with winter rapidly approaching; the Harvest would be starting in less then a few weeks.
The Harvest was a time when the Vampires set out to capture as many Werewolves as they could; some for personal slaves after the fight was beaten or poisoned out of them, but mostly, to pit them against each other in some archaic game. Most of the time, they all wound up slaughtering each other.
Which was fine and dandy, since it was merely a form of gruesome entertainment.
Loki was breathing heavily, his heart pumping cold blood through his veins. He opened his mouth somewhat as if it to hiss, to throw some witty and clever remark her way. "You truly test the limits of my…patience."
Right. As all high-and-mighty as vampires made themselves appear, she could see right through him; he wanted her just as bad as she wanted him – and he was disgusted with himself for it.
Darcy could see it in his eyes. "Wish me luck?" She murmured, breathing in another sample of his scent that was so much like a drug to her, it was surreal. Feeling particularly daring, she raised a bit on her tippy-toes, ghosting her lips inches above his.
"Good luck," He practically whispered, just barely offering her the kiss she nearly took on her own, his tongue flicking out quickly to sample the forbidden fruit of her lips, before he was gone.
Leaving her alone in the forest, staring at the spot he had been occupying moments ago, gut twisting with longing, hatred, and despair.
His fingers expertly pulled her shirt off, and the article of clothing was happily forgotten, and instead, she focused on the icy flesh trailing along her oversensitive, too hot skin. The cold pads of his hands taking in the curve of her hip, the arch of her spine, everything; but it wasn't enough.
There was still too much clothing and too little touching; at this rate, he'd sober up before they got any level of satisfaction…and she doubted he would let himself make the same mistake again.
Sealing her mouth along the column of his neck, she worked quickly and efficiently to tug the leather jacket off of him, happy to find the shirt beneath was a button-down. With each undo of the buttons, she offered a little bite to the skin on his neck.
He groaned, and the animalistic sound shot straight to her core, working up even more of an unpleasant throb of want and need. "Fuck," She swore lightly, watching with fascination as he literally bit off her bra, by snapping the middle would-be middle clasp with his teeth, and tearing the rest off.
Chest to chest, heart to heart, she was slowly becoming lost in the haze of her intense desire; her own nails scraping the grabbing at his lean, athletically build body – compact, but certainly strong.
Their kisses became fierce, full of teeth and tongue, and the occasional bite, but she hardly cared; a clever, talented hand of his had slipped effortlessly into her panties – jeans having been discarded well before, thanks to mindful foresight. And she was glad she made that move.
Frost and pressure pressed and moved against her clit, causing a loud moan to break; her mouth uttering incoherent things into his ear, the fever in her body rising even higher with the proof of his own lust hot and pulsing along her thigh.
After that, it's a blur of touches and grinding that take her breath away, and set her soul on fire.
Darcy finds herself pinned to the bed by one pale hand, gazing up at the green-eyed vampire beneath half-lidded eyes heavy with want. In her throat bubbles some smart-ass remark, and she's about to say it when he steals her ability to speak, by slotting his mouth against her own.
Her legs have wrapped themselves around his hips, and a small noise in made in the back of her throat at the feel of pants; he seems to understand, and before she could even register how it happened, he was just as naked as her – only a thing layer of clothing separating them.
Rolling her hips against his earns her a long groan, and she grins in satisfaction against his mouth. "We haven't got all day, sir," She murmured in a mocking tone, a lopsided half-grin forming on his face before he bit her bottom lip.
"Good things come to those who wait," And damn him, even with a drunken slur to his words they're still the hottest thing she's ever heard.
This must've been the third time in a week.
They found each other, like always; almost like two magnets drawn to each other, it was impossible for them to escape, to fight it.
As always, it started out with a fight; she had shifted into her werewolf form, and all hell had broken loose out in the small forest. Teeth and claws were everywhere, and at some point, over knocking down and old oak tree, they tumbled together down a hill.
During the roll, she morphed back into her humanoid form, clinging onto him without even really knowing why. It ended with a final lurch, and the sound of bones breaking as they came into contact with a large boulder.
She hadn't woken up until two days later, wrapped in a jacket that was most certainly not her own. Her arm was in pain; her neck was stiff and sore. Loki sat a few feet from her, his eyes staring intently.
He could've easily left her there. Judging by her own aching body, she cushioned his blow, and had passed out to let her body recover. As a werewolf, her regenerative abilities were rather supreme, and much faster then a humans…but it still took some amount of time.
Instead of killing her, like any of his kin would have, he didn't.
"I hope you like deer," Loki spoke gently, nodding to where the corpse of said deer lay. All Darcy wasn't to do was laugh at the absurdity of it all – of them. Their mindless flirtation and fucked up attraction, coupled with the stolen kisses and nights watching over each other from a distance. It all had no real explanation or logic.
And, now, breakfast. "What are you doing?" It wasn't an accusation; but a legitimate question that did not only pertain to the whole breakfast deal.
There was a pause, and he swept his gaze over to her, closing for a fraction of a second, and sighed. "I do not know," Was all he could murmur, looking more confused and distraught then she had ever seen him.
That night they lay beside a roaring fire, leaning against each other for something they could not name; could not want; but needed, desperately.
She shimmied out of her panties and tore off his boxers along with them, eager to feel the full press of skin on skin; heat to heat; and lust to lust.
Their movements were frenzied from the moment he slid into her body, back arching in animalistic joy. Darcy nipped and licked along his neck, breathing hard as he took near complete control of the situation, expertly fucking her into the mattress with the deadly precision of a sex-god.
How he manages to multi-task while being drunk, she has no idea; but the combination of quick, deep thrusts and the eroticism of his pointed teeth biting her neck, shoulders, and breasts are almost too much to handle.
Never enough to draw blood, though. Thank God, or Satan, or whoever, what her skin is tougher then that of the paper-thin humans.
Her name is tumbling off his lips in a mantra of other words she can't understand, and a jumble of curses she didn't even know he was aware of. The coolness of his unnatural breath only heightens each sensation as it fans out over her skin, causing goosebumps to break out.
His back was a battlefield of red welts from her nails, clawing at him in an effort to hold on; they hurt, to a degree, certainly, but it was tame enough (compared to horror stories he had heard) for him to enjoy it. To him, she tasted like sweet honey, with an edge of something spicy, that left him addicted, and panting for more.
The fog of his mind due to alcohol was beginning to wear off, but it was already overwhelmed by the haze of passion, repressed desire, and his overall urge to claim her – not only in the most primal of ways, but as his, forever.
"C'mon, Loki," She all but purred into his ear, in between fruitful gasps and moans. "That all you got?"
He could've laughed out loud. Loki managed a small chuckle, nipping at her bottom lip. "You're barely holding on as it is," His reasoning his futile, and this he knows without a doubt; a fire sparks in her ears, and she bares her teeth at him, offering an extra, sensual roll of her hips that causes electricity to shoot up his spine.
Well, she certainly played dirty. "As you wish," He crooned in a dark, hushed tone, giving one last, chaste kiss to the shell of her ear, before giving the young woman extract what she wanted.
Her lips tugged into a brilliant smile, that was both genuine and wicked, and what was left of his heart felt a little bit alive again at the beautiful sight.
For one night only. He would lead her into oblivion, and indulge in his most secret fantasies, as well as her own, if only for this single night they had together. Tonight, she was his, he was hers, and no one could touch them.