Dark couldn’t even recall what had started this particular fight. All he knew was that it had gone on long enough for the fresh bruises to begin blossoming into a deep purple hue, and that he was beginning to allow a few of Meta’s blows to land. Fortunately Meta seemed just as drained, his hair plastered back with sweat and his attacks significantly weaker. He was breathing heavily, mouth gaping open and fangs bared. The two had thrown aside their armor and weapons to settle things personally, and Dark was somewhat appreciative of the view that ended up providing.
Meta looked positively vicious, eyes alight with fury and wings flared out. He’d discarded his outer jacket and the armored vest beneath after insisting Dark do the same, in the interest of an honorable fight. The black shirt beneath stuck to his skin with sweat, showing tantalizing hints of the muscle underneath. Meta dashed at him again, throwing another precise punch that Dark managed to intercept. Meta was faster, but Dark was stronger. Dark grabbed Meta’s wrist and flung the other man away. Meta managed to roll into a handspring, flipping elegantly back onto his feet. Without even a moment’s hesitation he took another run at Dark, landing a brutal kick into the other’s side. Dark fell onto his side, curling in on himself and wheezing.
“Alright, ok! You win, quit kicking me!” Dark squealed, holding a hand out to intercept any errant attacks. Meta stepped back, folding his arms and glaring down at Dark with a mixture of irritation and contempt. He certainly hadn’t escaped unscathed, however. His right eye was blackened and swollen, and his lip was split, dripping blood down his chin. Dark himself was already thinking of what cosmetics he was going to use to cover up his bruised cheek, and was sincerely hoping that the warm blood streaming from his nose wasn’t an indication of any broken bones.
“Finally you have the sense to stay down,” Meta growled, wiping at the blood on his chin. He only managed to smear it across one side of his face, though he didn’t seem to really care. Dark watched the rapid rise and fall of the other’s chest for a few moments, before trailing his gaze up to Meta’s battered face.
“I have to say, I like this look on you,” Dark purred. Meta’s lip curled in disgust, and he turned on his heel to gather his things and leave. A hand around his ankle stopped him. “I’m joking, you giant prude. Sit for a while; you look like you might pass out.” Meta paused, and sighed, backing up a few steps and sitting beside where Dark lay, keeping a good foot of space between them.
“Let me make this painfully clear: I do not find you fit to even clean my boots with that filthy tongue. So if there is any shred of sincerity in your consistent lecherous comments be assured that it will remain purely within your depraved imagination,” Meta snarled. Dark blanked out slightly after the first sentence. He cursed himself for even entertaining the thought of allowing such an inferior reflection dominate him in any capacity. No, he was going to corrupt him, make him discard his ridiculous morals and become the tyrant they both knew he was. And then what? Dark had never thought past that simple plan, nor did he ever stop to wonder why he even cared. An uncomfortable tightness rose in his chest, unrelated to the bruise forming on his side.
“You have a real fear of sexuality, don’t you?” Dark quipped, hoping Meta would attribute the strain in his voice to their fight. Meta gave him a look of pure confusion that quickly morphed to outrage.
“I have no such thing,” he hissed, clenching his fists. “I am simply tired of your entirely unwelcome advances” he continued, evening his tone. Dark narrowed his eyes and sat up.
“Unwelcome, huh?” Dark shrugged, and pulled the hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face. He spent a distinctly unnecessary amount of time rubbing at his face, exposing as much of his torso as possible. “Sure, I’ll stop then. I know when a joke has gone too far” he said, pulling his shirt away from his face and very nearly cackling when he saw Meta’s eyes snap back up to meet his.
“Excellent,” Meta responded curtly, looking straight ahead. Dark silently scooted closer, ignoring the jittering feeling in his limbs. He leaned towards Meta, stopping an inch away from his face.
“I got your eye pretty good,” he laughed. Meta only looked at him, close enough to catch the others scent over the smell of the disturbed grass around them. He smelled of copper, sweat and cologne.
“I am only going to ask you once to back off,” he said lowly.
“Oh my, I’m positively shaking in my boots,” Dark drawled. “What are you going to do about this?” Dark slipped a finger under Meta’s chin, turning his head to face him and grinning wildly. Meta’s pupils turned into pinpoints and he tackled Dark with a snarl. The two grappled for a moment before Meta rolled back to his feet and managed to pin Dark’s neck with his boot.
“You disgusting little…” Meta trailed off, too riled up to properly articulate his rage. Dark grasped Meta’s ankle and yanked, pulling him off balance and onto the ground. He scrambled over to pin Meta down by the shoulders, steeling himself to the flurry of blows and kicks to his stomach. Meta was practically frothing at the mouth at this point, wings fluttering about wildly as he resorted to sinking his clawed fingers into Dark’s shoulder.
“What is your damage?!” Dark screeched. Meta’s thrashing slowed, and eventually ceased. He released his grip from Dark’s shoulder, fingers tipped in speckles of blood.
“You,” he said, seemingly too tired to even inject anger into his tone. He lay there catching his breath for a moment, giving Dark a steely glare. “What do you even stand to gain from tormenting me?”
“Because it’s amusing,” Dark lied, meeting the other’s stare with his single eye. Meta snorted, scowling deeply.
“You pathetic wretch. You truly need attention this badly?” he jeered. Dark only continued to stare. Meta looked truly malevolent, his fangs grit and bared, his face smeared with blood and marred by bruises. His eyes were like fire-polished glass, bright white and blazing with fury. A terrifying thing of beauty.
“Why do you keep giving me so much of it then?” Dark spat, letting genuine anger creep into his tone. Meta blinked, his rigid expression relaxing into one of blank confusion.
“Pardon?” he said, narrowing his eyes to slits.
“You’re always jumping at any chance to fight with me. Do you want to beat the snot out of me that badly? Or do you want me to kick your shit in?” Dark hissed, grabbing Meta’s collar and forcing him to keep eye contact. Meta grimaced at their proximity but resisted the urge to head-butt him.
“You go out of your way to infuriate me. And your constant inappropriate behavior is exceedingly unsettling,” he muttered.
“It isn’t anywhere near constant. Or are you reading a little too far into things?”
“It would be impossible to interpret your disgusting displays as anything else,” Meta snarled, once again baring his admittedly impressive set of canines. His breath smelled of stale blood and metal.
“Hey, I’m only messing with you on occasion. Anything else is wishful thinking.”
“You are participating in such a display at this very moment!” Meta snarled, darting forward until their foreheads ground together.
“And you’re acting like an aggressive idiot,” Dark shot back, wincing at the slight head-butt.
“You are driving me mad!” Meta shouted, gripping Dark’s neck with one hand. Dark refused to release his hold on Meta’s shoulders, instead giving him a harsh stare. Meta visibly faltered.
“Same here,” Dark growled, levity gone from his tone. He could feel Meta’s claws leave shallow cuts as they slipped away.
“Are we at an impasse here?” he muttered, allowing his hand to rest onto the grass. Dark swiftly moved to pin Meta’s hand down.
“We could be. Or we could tip the scales,” Dark spoke in a dangerous tone. Meta glanced at his hand and then looked back to Dark, alarmed.
“What are you-?”
“Quit playing dumb, it doesn’t suit you,” Dark snapped, leaning slightly forward until the tip of his nose brushed against Meta’s.
“Unhand me before I-!”
“Before you what? Manhandle me and run away?”
“I flee before you can violate my personal space!”
“So why are you still here!?”
“I don’t have a fucking clue!” Meta screamed. Dark’s eye widened at the uncharacteristic outburst, and the two stayed silent and stock still for a moment. They could each feel the other’s breath on their lips. Suddenly Meta shrugged Dark’s arm off of his shoulder, pushing the man off of him and onto his side. Meta was quick to dart after, forcing Dark to abandon hope of recovery by straddling him and pinning his arms down at his sides. Dark’s mouth gaped in shock.
“What on earth is your problem-?”
“Shut. Up.” Meta snapped, pressing his lips against Dark’s. Dark very nearly jerked away in shock, but he quickly relaxed, obliging the chaste kiss. He slipped a hand out from Meta’s grip and curled it around the back of his neck, pressing them closer. He felt the smooth enamel of Meta’s teeth brush against his lower lip, and he pulled back for a moment.
“Put those fangs to use,” he whispered. Meta’s only response was to gently worry at Dark’s lower lip with his incisors, opening his eyes to gauge his response. His look of mild boredom spurred Meta to bite down lightly, scraping the inside of the lip enough to draw a pinprick of blood. Dark quietly gasped, opening his mouth just enough to allow Meta to slip his tongue through. He lacked any sort of finesse, but his raw passion left Dark gasping for air with bruised lips. The blood still oozing from their respective injuries mingled and smeared over their mouths, the overpowering taste of copper both mildly nauseating and intoxicating.
“What a mess,” Meta muttered, causing Dark’s lips to move along with his in an involuntary silent mimicry. He brought a hand up to Dark’s chin, gripping it and tilting his head upward. Meta took care to use only the pads of his fingers, keeping just enough space between skin and claws to prevent drawing blood. He lapped the blood away from Dark’s face, sweat and blood burning his taste buds as he trailed down to the other’s neck.
“Shit,” Dark breathed, resisting the urge to press his body against Meta. Meta smirked against the cool skin of Dark’s throat, parting his lips to lightly scrape at the delicate flesh with his fangs. He moved his hand from Dark’s chin to rest on the grass, giving him full access to continue gently biting and sucking at the other’s neck. Meta slightly sunk one of his razor-like canines into the skin, causing Dark to gasp loudly and arch his head back, showing off the unblemished alabaster tapestry of his neck. The submissive display was rewarded with another harsher bite, though Meta carefully gauged the strength as to not inflict an actual wound. The beads of blood gathering in the shallow punctures were greedily lapped up, and Dark shivered at the warmth of the tongue on his naturally cool skin.
“You kinky bastard,” he laughed, voice awash in giddy energy. He felt a short burst of warm air as Meta quietly snorted.
“Hush,” Meta commanded, his tone soft and sultry. He shifted so that his lips hovered over the crook of the man’s neck, and hesitated. “Let me know if it becomes too much to bear.”
“Hm?” Meta’s only form of clarification was once again sinking his fangs into Dark’s neck, only this time it was with a measured and agonizing slowness. Dark bit his lip and reached a hand up to grab a fistful of Meta’s wild indigo hair, pressing him forward and urging him to bite down ever harder. The pain was sharp and electric, darting up the side of his neck from the deepening wound, but it wasn’t quite enough yet. It was just pushing to the precipice of Dark’s outer limits of tolerance, but he wanted desperately to teeter at the very edge. He shoved Meta’s head forward, forcing his teeth slightly deeper and hitting his limit. He cried out in a mixture of pain and satisfaction as Meta quickly pulled his fangs out with a sickening wet pop.
“You are utterly deranged,” Meta grumbled, licking gently at the wound before blood could begin streaming out. Two cold hands grasped either side of his face and pulled him up to face Dark.
“Let me get a look at you,” Dark purred. The tips of Meta’s canines were stained rust-red, and his lips were slick with blood and saliva. He panted slightly, skin burning under Dark’s hands. His usually crystal-clear eyes were hazy and slightly unfocused, clouded with a number of emotions Dark didn’t recognize, though he hoped at least one was something along the lines of desire. Dark gave a wide, manic grin, showing off his smaller, pure white fangs. “Gorgeous…” he whispered, drooling slightly. He reached a hand to the hem of Meta’s shirt, slipping a few fingers beneath the fabric. Meta leaned back slightly, looking from the hand to Dark.
“Go ahead,” he muttered, looking away with reddened cheeks. Dark slid his hand up further, savoring the ridges and bumps of the man’s hard abdominals. Dark himself was rather toned, but Meta trained himself ruthlessly day in and day out. And now Dark had the opportunity to enjoy the fruits of that labor. Dark suddenly yanked the material upwards, leaving the shirt resting just below the pectorals and making Meta let out an undignified squeak as cold air hit the exposed skin. The muscle was lithe and lean, seemingly tensed and ready for attack at any moment. Though that could describe the man himself as well. Meta had a raw ferocity and power about him, allowing him to be commanding and intimidating despite his slim figure and small size. He was more like a cat than a bat in that aspect; able to be calm and fluid while retaining the impression that he could be ripping at your throat in an instant. His volatile temper only added to that feeling.
Dark lightly pressed a hand to the skin just under where the fabric stopped before slowly trailing downwards, allowing his fingers to follow the contours of Meta’s torso. He stopped just above the hem of his pants. Dark looked again at Meta, and was met with a steely gaze that seemed to be daring him to try something. He got one finger hooked under Meta’s belt before a hand closed around his wrist with an iron grip.
“I am not one for exhibitionism,” Meta said evenly, though he seemed slightly thrown off by Dark’s boldness. Meta extricated himself from Dark’s grip and stood, pulling his shirt back into place and straightening it.
“Don’t leave now!” Dark groaned, already missing the other’s heat. Meta said nothing as he walked over to where his armor laid, wings melding back into his cape. He slid his helm back on and slipped his jacket over his shoulders, not bothering to close the front. The remaining armor was unceremoniously dumped into the void of his cape, and he strode back over to loom over Dark.
“I am going to go get myself cleaned up,” he said. He paused for a moment, before adding, “And if you are inclined to help me clean up your mess…” he folded his arms, “…the door will be unlocked.”
“We wouldn’t be getting very clean then,” Dark tittered, smirking. Meta gave him a distinctly unperturbed look, and gave an obvious glance to a lower bit of Dark’s anatomy.
“Indeed. Then I would suggest you wait before following me. And consult a physician if four hours pass without change.”
It was Dark’s turn to flush red.