Acta Est Fabula - Ch. 7
SUMMARY: Crimson Court AU. Damian and Tardif reunite in the courtyard and their relationship takes the next logical step. No Beta. Read at your own risk.
PAIRING: Bounty Hunter x Flagellant
RATING: E (slight sadism / monsterfucking / rough sex / sexual experimentation)
WORD COUNT: 5,430
READ ON Ao3: -> HERE!!
A/N: Hey ya'll, I love these two so much I made a
➡️ bounty hunter x flagellant discord server! ⬅️
(Click the invite link to come join the fun!) 🪓💌🪓
Also check out my BHxF chibis~ 💘
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Tardif runs through the tenacious fronds, intent on putting some distance between him and the vulturous pack of guards.
He stops once he's strapped for breath, reaching a small glade within the swamp. He peers around his surroundings, wondering if the vampire had made it out safely, if he was close behind.
“Damian,” he hollers, pulling apart the long grass native to this place, “Damian are ye here?”
Tardif waits, listens, fear getting the best of him, voice small and cracking, “Please, tell me yer here …”
He's met with the chirp of crickets, more droning hums of wings spawned from swarms of nocturnal creatures, but none carry the sanguine sound he seeks.
He's about to turn back, retrace his steps when a dense fog culminates around him, layers of a supernatural stratosphere building upon one another to form a jagged semblance of a human shape.
“Yes, my dear hunter. I am here.”
The words wisp in his ears, a lover's sweet nothings, the undead nobleman materializing before his eyes in broken layers of smoke.
He had not the time to reflect on it before, but in hindsight, Damian could have escaped him at any time with powers like this, obfuscate into nothingness, gone with the wind.
Somehow, their arrangement seems all the more precious, Tardif's old life left behind, along with everything and everyone he ever knew, needing to grasp hold of the one thing he'd given it all up for.
He yanks on golden forelocks, pulling the flagellant in for a kiss, knocking him off his feet.
And oh, what a kiss it is. The way those lips move, demanding comfort, pleasure, existence, it leaves Damian light-headed and delirious. If he had not fallen for the cocky blowhard before, he certainly would have now.
“Ye came fer me,” Tardif mutters, parting them with this epiphany.
It takes Damian a minute to recover from the intensity, still sucking at his own lips in desire for more, eyes fluttering open.
“Of course I did,” he says, the most simple and logical action he could have taken given the circumstances of his arrest, “Seems you didn't need me though.”
“I'll always need ye.”
It is said without jest, spoken purely from the heart, a rarity for the gruff brunette.
Damian gasps at such a bold declaration, eyes wide, his insides about to melt from how unbearably hot this man makes him.
“What about your friend? Will she be alright?”
“Boudica can take care of herself.”
A swift, perfunctory statement said with absolute confidence in her.
Well, if Tardif had no reason to doubt the warrior woman, then neither would he.
The two men give pause, affirming each other with gentle caresses, the last few hours so far away, dazed like a dream now that they were together again.
“My hero,” Tardif says, grinning.
“Hardly,” the vampire scoffs, never considering himself as such. Even so, he'll claim the spoils of the rescue, leaning back to resume what his partner had started.
There's a splash from the swamp, a hulking mass of croc skin stampeding right for them. Sebastian's long snout cuts between their snogging, nuzzling the brute in his master's stead, starving for his affection.
“Ey ye,” Tardif greets, nearly bowled over, giving the croc a pet, wondering if he'll ever get used to the reptile's surprise attacks.
“Seems I am not the only one happy to have you back,” Damian observes, touched by this heartwarming display, hiding his smile behind regal fingertips.
Tardif gives the creature a few more solid pats, Sebastian gurgling in appreciation as a coarse glove rubs down his fringe.
”As much as I would like to continue this, perhaps we should seek refuge. Lest we be rudely interrupted … again.”
“Oh, ye got a place in mind?” Tardif asks, brow raised in amusement, the croc keeping his hands sorely occupied.
“As a matter of fact, I do. It's in the water,” the vampire says, presenting a svelte hand towards the swamp.
“'Scuse me?”
“You told me to seek better accommodations,” Damian reminds him with an aggravated sigh, “and I have done so.”
For as much as Tardif heckled him about finding a suitable home, he seems to have completely forgotten about such concerns now.
“But it's … in there,” Tardif protests, eyeing the water’s surface with foreboding ilk.
After the mess he'd been through, one would think a little water wouldn't be a problem, but he can't exactly swim.
“Yes, Sebastian will lead us there. You need only to hang onto his back and he'll take care of the rest.”
Feeling left out, a jealous buzz flares up from the tracker insect, wanting some affection himself.
“Yes, little one,” Damian chuckles, unlatching the cage from Tardif's hip, “We have not forgotten about you.”
“'Ey, wot are ye doin’,” the hunter growls, expecting the vampire to put it back.
“Letting him out of his cage of course,” Damian pouts, eyeing his partner with indignation.
“Never out of his cage.”
“All the more reason,” the flagellant says, turning the miniature prison around in his hands, assessing the lock, “You've experienced incarceration yourself. Have pity.”
“Never been on his own,” Tardif grumbles, still absorbed in grooming the hybrid beast with bigger teeth, fearing what would happen if he stopped, “Wot if a predator picks 'em off?”
“Let the poor thing stretch it's wings at least.”
Damian sneaks one of his long nails into the lock, stretched keratin mimicking a makeshift key, testing the mechanism for the right sequence and length.
Once the latch clicks open, Pierre zips out into the free air, his streamlined body zig-zagging like a bullet.
“Amazing,” Damian applauds, watching the insect run laps around them, a dizzying afterimage of black, “It seems our little Pierre has quite the hidden talent.”
“Teh, he ain't ever comin’ back now.”
Damian turns towards his partner, a glimpse into the brute's vulnerable side, a forlorn expression upon his face. “Are you so afraid that the things you love will abandon you?”
He doesn't like Damian phrasing it like that, but yeah, he is.
“I am surprised you haven't tried to cage me,” the nobleman pouts, crossing his arms, interpreting his silence as confirmation.
“Haven't I,” Tardif deadpans, surprised that an intellectual like Damian hadn't picked up on the signs yet, “Wit’ my blood and that whistle there.”
Damian had never assumed that was the case, fishing out the keepsake from clothes, the chain still moored around his neck, their pact having more hidden clauses than he thought.
“Why would you tell me this,” he asks, hands trembling as he clutches the binding love token, revelation in his crimson irises.
“Tryin’ to take yer advice. Don't make me regret it.”
“Tardif,” the vampire pleads, taking a step closer, “I would not leave you, not now. Not with so much at stake.”
“Don't trust words.”
“Then, trust my actions. As you said, did I not come for you?”
Sure, but the flagellant could just as easily change his mind in the future, decide he's not worth sticking around for, just like everyone else.
The vampire sighs, putting a hand to his head in weariness. Sometimes, the hunter was insufferable, the stubbornness of his youth sporadic in nature.
“Pierre help me, please,” Damian asks, holding out a finger for the agile creature to land on.
In a flash, the insect obeys, long legs curling around the cuff of the aristocrat’s pale hand. The vampire spares him a few pets, mindful of his wings, stoking the segments of his body, “Your master is in need of your love. Will you show him for me?”
The insect buzzes, the flagellant lifting his hand to help him take flight only to land promptly on Tardif's shoulder, rubbing its hairy spines against the human’s cheek.
“There now, do you see," Damian asks, watching as the hunter becomes the center of attention, both tamed beasts competing at his side, "Are you thoroughly convinced?"
“Hn,” Tardif grumbles, giving up one hand to pet Pierre under his blood-stained nose, “it's a start.”
—-
The croc breaks into the musty air pocket, sloshing a wet trail up the rocky dock of the cave.
Insectoid legs pause at the crest of the landing, dripping dry, allowing his passengers time to disembark.
Damian is the first to jump down from his perch, but Tardif looks a bit worse for wear, having kept his eyes shut the whole way, gripping the reptile's wrinkled map of skin like his life depended on it.
“Still alive, my dear vampire hunter,” Damian teases, looking at his sad, waterlogged appearance.
The brute grunts, finally opening his eyes, wiping at his face, pushing back his soppy dregs of hair.
He can't say he enjoyed being whisked through the swamp, one of the more unpleasant experiences of his life, his lungs on fire from how long he'd been holding his breath.
He's still a bit disoriented from traveling at such a high speed, water rushing against him in resistance, taking in much needed gulps of air, coughing on it.
“The first time is always the hardest. I promise you'll get used to it,” Damian soothes, the younger man much too cute when he's so helplessly out of his element.
Tardif side-eyes him, not about to make a habit out of this unconventional mode of transportation.
He's glad they left Pierre back on the surface so he wouldn't have to endure the trip, the insect getting the greener side of the deal.
Damian assured him the liberated mosquito was more than capable of looking after himself, much too fast for anything to catch him, but Tardif still felt like an anxious mother bird letting him fly on his own for the first time.
“Come inside, let me show you around.”
Damian offers his hand, helping the brute to climb off the croc’s back. Feet now planted on solid ground, the vampire leads him further up the bank, their hands still clasped, the human finding it hard to see amidst the darkness of the underground, needing his guide.
There's something akin to a nest in the heart of the living area, reeds both old and new gathered together to form bedding atop slate and bones. Sebastian clambers into it, taking up most of the space as Damian shows his partner how small the dwelling is, pointing to a dithering fork in the path ahead.
“This side loops around, though there is a small pool at the end if you ever feel like taking a dip.”
“Teh,” the hunter scoffs, having had his fill of water for one day.
“The other side is a dead end. A cave in, by the looks of it.”
“So, only one way outta here?”
“Yes, it appears you're stuck with me for the time being. I do hope that won't be a problem?”
Damian arches a blonde brow, daring the other to say something rude, but Tardif just laughs it off.
“Won't hafta worry ‘bout ye gettin’ lost.”
“Or sneaking up on you in the dark?”
“Exactly.”
The brute takes in the meager sights, his eyes mostly drawn to the salvaged treasure trove scattered along the wall in a disorderly pile.
“Oh yes, Sebastian’s collection,” his host muses, fingers poised under his chin in contemplation as Tardif rifles through the menagerie of junk.
“He's been such a darling about gathering up materials from the swamp. I thought you might find something suitable in place of your blade. Seems the Order left you without protection.”
Tardif scoffs again, an almost smirk in light of the vampire's snarky dash of spice, remembering all too well his confiscated gear, no doubt residing in the church's armory.
Many of these antiques are too rusted to be considered viable replacements, but some of the more recently excavated weapons had potential. He’ll need to clean them up a bit, do some test runs to be sure they'll hold up to the demands of a real fight.
The nobleman utilizes one of the foraged torches, hoping to make it easier for the hunter to pick from the array of sadistic toys, snuff the chill in the process, humans being the fragile creatures they are.
Tardif witnesses the multitude of attempts, the cave illuminated with each crack of flint rock, the vampire having a terrible time getting the sparks to stay lit, the dampness of their quaint little abode forestalling his quest.
The hunter finally decides enough is enough, distracting from his task to rip off a piece of his pant leg, taking a vial of oil from his pocket, wrapping the fabric around the torch wick, dousing it in liquid fuel.
“Try it now.”
“But your poor clothes,” Damian says, looking at them forlornly.
“Not the first time they've been torn into,” Tardif jokes, recalling their depravity in the woods.
“And certainly not the last,” the vampire quips, his expression softening before such chivalry, “Thank you.”
Romantic mood lighting in place, the stage was now set for the vampire to make his move.
“I am going to make myself more comfortable. You should too.”
As Tardif acclimates himself to his new surroundings, Damian throws off his hat, shrugging off his jacket too, leaving them to hang on a crest of stalagmites, a glorified coat rack.
The hunter doesn't think too much of it. Made sense to shed the extra layers after cavorting around in bog water, especially if they were holding up here for the night. He should probably do the same.
He takes a seat at the outskirts of the croc’s nest, a crude circle made of dried foliage, tugging off his boots, turning them upside down, a stream of excess water trickling out.
“I hope you'll forgive the frugal accommodations,” the vampire says, combing a hand through his hair, wringing out the ends, “couldn't find the time to redecorate.”
“Fine by me,” his partner snorts, shaking free the last of the water droplets from his gloves, setting them aside to dry beside his footwear.
Even without the finer comforts of life, the hideout served its purpose, saving them from the danger of being left out in the open and that's all a wanted runaway really cares about.
“I've been thinking,” Damian teases, candlestein allure in his tone as he toes off his only shoe, “perhaps, it is time for us to make another deal.”
Tardif is only remotely suspicious, raising a brow at the proposition.
“Wot kind of deal?”
The vampire grins, so glad he asked, approaching with quite the rigmarole, a ball-toed saunter, Tardif watching him closely as he bends, slinking down into his lap.
“This kind,” the blonde accosts, slotting them together, clothed thighs sliding along his partner's damp knees.
Maybe Sebby can smell it in the air, but the croc seems to know it's time for him to enjoy a nice long swim until some intermediate time later when the two men are done rutting.
With a splash the reptile leaves them, headed back out into the swamp.
“And wot exactly do I get out of it,” Tardif asks, enjoying the friction, feeling warmer already.
Damian seems disappointed, self-conscious of his worth, weary of his partner's greed. He places an elegant hand upon the warrior's chest, pushing a distance, eyes gleaming with retrospect.
“Is your satisfaction not enough?”
“Always sweeten the pot,” the axeman tutors, a life lesson taught to him by his fellow hunters. It was never wise to barter at a fair price, that's how you lose profit, always ask for more.
Seems the hallowed flagellant has taken it the wrong way, so Tardif feels it necessary to lay on the charm, a knuckle running along the ridge of a porcelain jaw, taking his cold cheek in hand.
He inches closer, heterochromia eyes flicking between Damian and his lips, pulling him in for a kiss, one the vampire is becoming more agreeable to the longer he commits to it.
Once he feels Damian kiss back, scrape hands around his neck in telltale longing, he knows he is forgiven. Warm-bodied hands tug at narrow hips, keeping the blonde paramore in place, finding it appropriate to slip his tongue in, graze it past sharpened teeth.
The vampire is startled, flinching in hesitance, but lets him in. The hunter tangles their mouths in velvet heat, but no doubt returns to lick along his fangs, tempting their bite. The flagellant gives him what he wants, what they both want, piercing into a curious tongue, sucking on the gushing wound in fervent sups. Now that the vampire is distracted, swept up in the taste, does Tardif topple him, pinning the taller man onto his back.
Damian chuckles from his lowly position, sucking his lips of all the blood he can, ”Must you always play the victor?”
The hunter trembles, watching as his lover’s eyes darken, how they reflect his budding desire, wants to see how deep they can become.
“Just works itself out that way,” Tardif replies, as if nature itself paid him favor, staring down at his pallid lover, water dripping from his dark bangs, “So, now that ye know whose toppin’, how far we goin’?”
“As far as you want,” the vampire remarks simply, walking claws up his partner’s soaked shirt. He can't see the skin beneath, but the garment clings so closely that he has a strong impression of what to expect.
The hunter only needs a moment to contemplate, smiling around a heady breath, “I'll be takin’ all of it.”
Rather than haggle him about the faults of avarice, the vampire must address his own apprehension.
“You would want to,” Damian asks, surprised, laying a hand flat against his partner’s sternum, “Are you sure you're ready?”
“‘Course I am,” the hunter declares, cheeky in his every move, “the question is, are ye?”
“I think I can handle it,” he counters, now gliding nails along his arm, “But first, indulge me, how many have you been with?”
Tardif grumbles, a garden of rose blooming across his tan features, averting the honesty of his eyes, “Should be asking ye that.”
If the vampire out ranked him in years, then it most likely applied to his number of bedpartners and the hunter doesn't like the condolences of second place.
“There have been a few,” Damian confirms with a nod, a reserved blink that shows off the spun gold of his eyelashes, “And you?”
“Some, maybe more,” Tardif says, glossing over the specifics, “None like ye, though.”
“I am flattered,” Damian purrs, arousal crackling all around him, making the hunter shudder with anticipation, “your first vampire.”
Tardif doesn't take kindly to being teased, serves it right back by grasping at the nobleman's clothes, rough hands pillaging all he has to offer.
Fabric snags in the human's haste for more contact, more skin, pushing the intrusive shirt and vest up to notch under the contours of his ivory chin.
The vampire gasps, his eyes pinched in an arch as well as clothes, callous hands rubbing over the stiffened peak of his nipple, making them swell with sensation.
“These are the only rags I have left. What am I to do if you ruin them?”
Despite the blonde's blithe objections, the brute doesn't slow his assertively brisk ministrations.
“Hafta run ‘round naked I guess.”
Damian’s not sure if he could. It would be too improper for one of his upbringing, too uncivilized. Best to leave such things to the animals, an enigma for the imagination to explore.
“You're much better suited for streaking than me.”
He may have seen Tardif completely naked from the waist down, but he wants to see the other half unveiled too, put both tantalizing pieces of the puzzle together.
“Later,” he coos, moving to kiss at Damian's neck, sucking at it, tasting his own blood, the drip of iron in his mouth not quite cauterized yet.
Now this was a curious sensation, having a human mouth suckle on him. It's enjoyable enough that he’s tilting his head, giving the barbaric warrior as much unexplored canvas as he could possibly want.
“Does that mean you will want this again,” the flagellant asks, almost afraid to wish it true.
“Was planin’ on it,” he speaks between open-mouth kisses.
“You do so love your plans.”
His laughter returns, effervescent as it bubbles out his throat. Well, at least he knows Tardif likes him enough to repeat the act. How reassuring.
“Hmmm,” the brute hums, tongue darting out to lick at the fresh bruises blooming on his partner's skin, “No more talkin’.”
“So impatient,” the vampire tuts, “It's barely been that long since I claimed your release.”
How could Tardif forget? The memory is carved just as deeply as the twin puncture wounds in his thigh.
“Please, my dear hunter, won't you undress for me?”
With a needle-like grip, the flagellant strokes the back of his partner's neck, just under the woven hairs of his braid, enticing his request.
“Fine,” he grunts, but only because he likes the way Damian begs.
It happens in a flurry, the two breaking apart just enough to divest themselves, Tardif already throwing off his shirt, kicking off his lower layers, discarding them into a messy wet pile along with Damian’s signature tights.
The trained killer is all muscle and scars, flesh bearing the hunter’s mark, the vampire running claws over the telltale tattoo, tracing the bold lines, flesh so firm and sunkissed.
“You are divine.”
The compliment makes the hunter grin, supplying one of his own in return.
“Ain't so bad yerself.”
“Good to know this form pleases you as well.”
Tardif snorts at the thinly veiled crack at his devious tastes. He wasn't expecting to get off on a monsterfucking either, but it's not like he chooses what has attracted to.
Damian's pale skin glows even in the dim light, so deceptively frail like porcelain, just waiting for him to carve into it with his teeth.
The huntsman leans down, biting at his nipple, hands traversing a path along the smoothness of his sides, grasping at his thin waist.
Damian moans, thrusting more of himself into Tardif's hands, his mouth, the huntsman's erection twitching with gratuitous anticipation.
Fuck the foreplay, they've done enough of it already. Time to get right to it.
The brute licks his fingers, coating them with enough spit to guide them down, brushing between the scars of pure white thighs.
Slick digits brush against his core, mixing with the dampness of the marsh still left on their skin, mapping the breadth of a sinuous edifice before pushing in, Damian accepting the stretch with a dignified grunt.
The flagellant lifts a leg, spreading himself open, drawing Tardif's reach further inside, all the while digging claws into his lover's arm.
It really has been too long, all the human can focus on his how fucking tight he is and goddammit, a few probing thrusts shouldn't make his cock ache with this much impatience, but it does.
He wants to know, needs to know what it feels like to have that ass take him whole, wrap around so much more than just trifling fingers.
Sooner than expected his touch retreats, the vampire raising a refined brow at his brief preparations, just getting used to his pervasive girth before it's gone, passions left empty.
“Can't wait no more,” he offers in explanation, a fleeting answer to his partner’s questioning eyes.
He yanks at the flagellant's hips, pulling them into his lap, holding his cock against the same dizzying heat that still lingers on his fingertips.
Both men gasp as he pushes in, pliant flesh giving way to his devout hardness and Damian thinks it feels so very good to be wanted like this.
“Tardif,” he shouts, brows clenched in a bittersweet symphony, “what delicious pain you bring me.”
“Thought you'd like that.”
The huntsman shifts deeper, swathed in a sheath perfectly tailored to him, pulling back just enough to drive forward again, length claimed by inches until he's finally buried, all the way to the hilt.
He pauses there, lets them savor the feeling before drawing his erection halfway out, dropping a bit of spit between them to ease the way, a vulgar means of lube dabbing out onto his shaft.
“You couldn't have done that before,” the flagellant pants, a critique of the younger man's faulty methods.
True, he could have. He just didn't want to.
“Hn,” he grunts, too busy thrusting in, letting the motion of their bodies spread the slick into the tinted rouge of his beguiling passage.
“Let me see yer wings,” Tardif all but demands.
Damian chuckles, calves resting on either side of the huntsman's tanned hips. “That would require a slight change in our positions.”
Not about to let that stop him, the brute pulls out completely, flipping his partner onto his stomach.
“Ye were sayin'?”
He doesn't join them again, not right away. He seeks to torture them both, rubbing his cockhead all over over the stark curves of his ass.
“There, please,” Damian grovels, gripping at any of the stray reeds he can get his hands on, ”Let me feel you.”
“Not til I see yer wings.”
Despite all his rapturous need, the vampire still hesitates, huffing out a warning. “It's difficult for me to control. It could be dangerous for you.”
“I'll take my chances.”
Tardif thrusts for emphasis, tip grazing into the dark slit of his entrance only to yank it back out, goading him to obey, making him blind with desire.
“Come on, then.”
“Yes, yes, alright.”
Damian obliges, a wriggle of skin around his shoulder blades, branching structures breaking through the canvas of his back, unveiling a beautiful translucent membrane, then two.
They're long in diameter, spanning the length of an arm's reach, fluttering as they unfurl, stirring up a small wind as they fan gently, up and down.
Tardif swears there's a chime, a beat that follows their appearance, as if Damians attached bells to himself, something entirely magical about them, but the human was expecting more.
“Should be four. Lemme see all of ‘em.”
Tardif seems to be lost in the shine, the complexity of their frailness, thrusting in just as the second set unveils, shuddering around the smack of their hips. He grabs at them violently, tugs at the delicate juncture of where undead flesh and bloodsucking pinion meet.
“Ahhh,” the masochist cries, more of pleasure than pain, dragging nails across the floor around him.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yess,” Damian hisses, absorbed in the rippling sensation, his wings vibrating.
Whether it's a sign of bliss or a means to fly away, the brute can't be sure.
“Do ye like it?”
Damian takes a breath, fist clenching, unclenching, searching himself for the answer.
“... Yes.”
The grin that happens upon the axeman's face is one of the widest he's ever made in his life.
“Good.”
He kisses around the flesh he abused, soothing it, if such things were possible, scales sprouting from the flagellant's newly grown appendages.
Oh, and what's this?
There is a bulb protruding around his lover’s lower back, similar to a bloodsuckers rear abdomen, but it is quite petite, nowhere near as engorged as he’s seen them become.
He wonders if Damian is aware of its appearance, but rather than ask, Tardif prefers to experiment, rubbing along the tender red joint.
The flagellant's long, reverberating moan tells him all he needs to know, fueling his motivations to squeeze at it, the mysterious organ protruding even more, fine hairs and scales popping up around the hybrid’s skin.
“Please ... again,” the flagellant begs, lost in the pleasure, so close already.
“Found yer sweet spot,” the brunette tells him, as if he doesn't already know.
“Tardif, will you … s-stop … teasing me,” Damian pants, barely holding himself back from the brink, jerking his hips, needing his thrusts.
“Why?”
Tardif continues his merciless assault, enjoying his partner's gratification more than his own, the blonde going taunt, crying out as he cums, coating his belly and the stone wedged against it.
Oh, that must be why.
“Brute, savage, filthy vampire hunter,” Damian growls, blistering with anger, not achieving his release the way he wanted to, “Look what you've done.”
“Teh, just say ye love it,” Tardif whispers, lips brushing against long pointed ears, “Love my hot, bloody cock burnin’ inside ye.”
The vampire makes a noncommittal noise, neither agreeing or disagreeing, brows knitted in askance.
“Perhaps, if you utilized your cock more, we wouldn't have this problem.”
“Mmm.”
Tardif grumbles, angered by the jab at his performance, affixing both his hands to the bloodsucker’s tortured waist, drilling into him ruthlessly.
It's worth it to hear the vampire cry out, his voice echoing off the perspiring sediment in a series of “Yes, Tardif, yes,” hole stretched past its limit with each strike of his raging polearm.
The brunette can't keep the extravagant pace for long, he's too close, wincing from how sweet it is, resorting to a loop of languid thrusts to stave off his release, but it's too late, he's indulged too much too quickly, already cumming violently into his partner, biting into the nobleman’s shoulder to stifle his moan, the sensation too good.
“Mmm ahhh, fuck, Damian.”
Compelled, the huntsman jerks forward, attempting a few more repetitions, his lover squirming from the ordeal, his insides raw from the lack of lube and the abrasive sex, Tardif equally as sore.
He came more than he thought he would, the substance following him out, filled to the brim with cream-colored heaven.
“Don’t go yet,” the blonde says, bending his wrist back, lithe fingers blindly seeking his, “let me hold you a little longer.”
Tardif sees no reason why he can’t humor the request, intertwining their hands, letting them rest there, still connected, body and heart vibrating as one as they fight to regain their breath.
He mouths bleary kisses over the breadth of his lover's neck, the potent welts at his shoulder, the intensity of his orgasm finally beginning to settle.
“Beautiful.”
Damian can't say he's been called that before, a blush threatening to consume the entirety of his face, having felt such veneration, convinced Tardif is far more deserving of such adjectives.
The brute pulls out to lay down beside him, both men messy and lacking the means to clean up, the spent warrior thinking of the small pool the vampire had mentioned earlier to rinse off with, but they could save that for the morning after.
The flagellant snuggles up to his side, resting his disheveled head of hair on a thick-muscled arm, the insect feelers on his abdomen tickling the vampire hunter as they fold inward, pressed between them. He’ll have to remember to question the bloodsucker about those later, curious to how dexterous they could be, but for now he admires dark eyes blown bigger than the darkness around them, pale skin glistening with sweat.
“Do vampires dream,” he asks, playing with stray flaxen curls, twirling goldenrod thread around his bronze finger.
“I would say so,” Damian chuckles, reaching out to touch his lover's face, leaning in for a kiss, “I am in one right now.”
It's soft yet firm, lasting and warm, Tardif matching him in every aspect, hands holding the vampire in return.
“Gunna fall asleep,” the brute warns, eyelids falling shut, heavy lead sheets, the days of unrest finally catching up with him.
“Have I worn you out,” the vampire teases.
For once Tardif doesn't mind admitting to it, giving a barely perceptible nod.
“Wot 'bout ye?”
“I may want to go another round. After you've rested of course.”
“Won't make ye wait too long,” he grins in promise, lips pressing to the dolomite plains of his forehead.
As they lie there, Damian caresses him gently, coiling their legs together so that every part of them is touching, lulling the warrior until he's completely at ease, his speech reflecting it, slurred by bliss.
“Wake me up if somethin’ ‘appens.”
Damian chuckles, this side of his precious human so new and unexplored, so trusting to leave his body exposed before the cravings of a vampire.
The hunter need not worry, he would only drink from him if given explicit permission, his veins still infused with the rich draft of his gorgeous blood.
“Should I need rescuing, you will be the first to know.”
Tardif manages a lop-sided smile, Damian watching him drift off, tucking loose strands of hair back into place, making his beloved picturesque for slumber.
They have no coin, no legacy, just each other in all the world, but it’s more than enough for now.
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