Even as long lived as he is, there is a desire to grab hold of life and remind yourself that you're still part of it when you've had a brush with death. A desire to ensure to yourself that you made it and that everything is going to be okay. That you lived to fight another day, and they will fight. Someone would answer for this, but today isn't about revenge. It's about one another.

"Good," he murmurs, nuzzling along her collarbone, even as his hands move to start drawing up her shirt to slide his hand along her stomach and up to brush over one breast. "I'd hate to have to stop now."

Even as he chuckles, dragging fangs against her skin in a teasing touch without a bite.