He loved to kill. The thrill of the chase, the warmth filling his mouth, the rich taste… it was exhilarating. It was an instinct, to live this way, a primal need. But he would give it all up. Blood bags would suffice, even animal blood would work. The days after his hunt where she would disappear from disgust and disappointment… were most painful to him.
Yet he could not give it up. After all, he did it more for her than for himself. She was so sweet, his girl, and still so innocent after all their years together. She refrained from violence, from her nature, unless it was absolutely necessary. He could endure her short-lived rejection to see the darkening of her eyes after he kissed her, back from his hunt. She would know then, what he had been up to. She tastes it on him, and her body would react before her mind could.
It has been awhile, but tonight is one of those nights. He's not satisfied, not until she knows it. It goes the way it always does, once she's kissed him hello and the knowledge of his kill is racing through her body. She pushes him back, angrily. She is tantalized and hungry, and it shows when she kisses him. She is not his sweet girl tonight, and won't be again until they are done.
She shoves him once more, this time into the wall. He does not fight her. Not until she slaps him, turning her nails in, drawing blood on his cheek. He cannot stop it now, it is happening, and neither of them wants it to end. When she brings her hand back up, he grabs it and spins her so she is now pressed to the wall. "This is what you want?" he seethes at her and she snarls right back. "This is what you want?" he repeats, low and dangerous, before he shoves her again and bites through the skin of her neck. She fights to bite him back- save herself- and he lets her easily. He growls in pleasure when she does; giving turns him on even more than receiving.
When they've made their way to the bed, it is a constant tug of war of who gets to be on top and who gets to be in control. She occasionally slaps him around; he pushes her, often holds her down. Fleetingly, he wishes his body would not heal so quickly, for he would like to see her scratches and bites in the morning. She interrupts his thoughts when she pulls his hips to her, and he is lost to the rhythm.
When he has had enough of the tit for tat, and she is tiring out, he grabs her and turns her back to him. They always finish this way, him taking her from behind. He easily overpowers her, despite of the way he has been letting her handle him. After all, he was the one to drain someone's life just hours before; he is the one high off of fresh blood. He is naturally stronger than her, but with the exhilaration of the kill, she is no match for him. He orders her on all fours, and when she resists, he forces her there. When he enters her, she moans.
She likes it this way; she needs to remember that he can be dark, and he can be cruel. She refuses to accept the nature of her being. On these nights, he takes the darkness for both of them and becomes the animal they both are deep down.
And like that, he pushes her face down into the bed, hips in the air, roughly holding her hands behind her back. She struggles for her hands back, for dominance, only for a few seconds, before giving in and letting him fuck her. He is so rough with her in these moments, that her wrists bruise and the glass falls and shatters from the bed hitting the nightstand. Yet still she muffles something into the bed. He takes her hair in his hand and yanks her head to the side. "What was that, love?" his voice surprisingly soft despite his current actions. "Harder," she says lowly, barely more than a whisper. He obliges, and it is not long before she is crying out, and then him with her. She is everything to him in this moment, and he to her.
She avoids him longer this time. He does not try to find her; he knows she will return. Finally, on the fourth day, he returns from a meeting with Elijah to find her in the kitchen. She pulls a batch of cookies out of the oven and gives him a smile. It is always this way, as though nothing has happened. But he knows that later they will be in bed, their lovemaking special in the slow and gentle way, but just as passionate.
It is like that, their lives; a spattering of battles between the human and animal, gentle and rough. It will be some time before she realizes that it is this, the pull and push of the sweet and the dark, that makes life so lovely.