turnonmyheels (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
turnonmyheels) wrote2010-12-21 11:47 am
turnonmyheels) wrote2010-12-21 11:47 am
Fic! Throw Yourself From Skin to Skin 14/22
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Title: Throw Yourself From Skin to Skin
Pairing: Damon/anyone he damn well wants
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Damon is a vampire. There will be death, rape, torture, sex, bloodplay, etc.
Summary: Damon screws (with) Mystic Falls, episode by episode.
Spoilers: 1.14 Fool Me Once
Notes: thank you![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moosesal for the beta
Previous parts here
Stefan finds Damon at home in his favorite leather armchair by the fireplace. The boarding house is dark except for the roaring fire. In the dancing light of the flames Stefan spots three crystal decanters tipped over on the floor within arms reach of Damon. Another bottle open, but mostly full, rests between the juncture of his thighs. Damon appears to be relaxed and sprawling -- legs splayed wide, spine curved just so in the chair -- but Stefan knows better. He can see the tension in the hands, shoulders, and jaw.
He hasn’t seen Damon this wrecked since the night it all began. He hopes he never will again.
He wants to comfort his brother; squeeze his shoulder and tell him that everything will be all right. It won’t be, of course -- how could it -- but that doesn’t change the fact Stefan wants Damon to find solace with him.
“Come to gloat?” The tone is so bitter he almost expects Damon’s mouth to pucker. “Want to rub it in? How I’ve wasted a century and a half trying to free the love of my life from a fate worse than death only to find out she’s been--” Damon’s voice cracks and then breaks. He brings the bottle of Scotch to his mouth and drinks deep. Stefan watches as a drop of the liquor slides from Damon’s mouth to his chin. He moves further into the room, close enough that if Damon wanted, if he would allow it, Stefan could touch him.
“No.” He says it as softly and with as little inflection as he can. He squats down, resting on his heels so that he can be eye level with his brother.
Damon huffs out a breath and blows his bangs out of his eyes. He stares at Stefan and Stefan stares right back. Stefan holds Damon’s gaze and waits for him to make the next move. The ticking of the grandmother clock in the corner and the snap, crackle, pop of the fire are the only sounds, it gives this moment an eerie and nearly timeless feel. For a moment time bends and Stefan is reliving the night Damon told him he’d joined the Confederacy. Damon had been just as drunk and worse, he’d been exactly this betrayed. Only this time it was Katherine and not their father who’d ripped out Damon’s heart.
Stefan’s patience is rewarded when Damon offers him the decanter. He takes it from Damon’s hand and drinks deeply from the bottle. Half of it is gone when he carefully places the antique crystal on the floor between Damon and himself. Damon reaches for the bottle. His fingers slide down the surface before he manages to get a grip on it. He drinks from it, then clutches the bottle with both hands, holding it against his chest. Not unlike a child with a favorite toy.
The fire pops loudly and a log rolls, sending up a flare of sparks that Stefan can see reflected in Damon’s eyes. He’s never seen anyone this desolated before. Has no idea how to comfort the brother who claims to hate him. Whom he claims to hate (a lie, a 145-year habitual lie). He moves cautiously toward his brother, as if any sudden move will startle him into fleeing, or worse, a killing spree. Stefan moves as slowly as possible, making sure to telegraph his every move even though Damon’s attention appears to be solely on the fire. Stefan winds up on the floor next to Damon’s feet, with his back resting against the chair.
Stefan reaches for the decanter once again. He holds it up to the light of the fire and admires the glow of the Scotch through the finely cut crystal. “Scotch is for squares.” He speaks the words out loud but he hears a ghost of Lexie’s voice echo in his head. Prohibition. Stefan had never been able to remember what liquor went in which type of decanter. Damon had proclaimed it didn’t matter when most of what they had was bathtub gin in the first place, but Lexie had always insisted on propriety back then.
Lexie. Stefan drinks then, empties the bottle. He wants to destroy it, smash it against the fireplace and watch the crystal shards scatter across the room. But he doesn’t. Stefan has rarely done the things he wants to do, has instead always done what he should. Case in point, it should be Damon apologizing to him for killing his best friend, for ending one of the best people Stefan has ever known. That is not how this is going to go.
He leans against Damon’s leg, resting his temple against his brother’s knee. “I’m sorry.” Barely any sound comes out; it is more of a breath than spoken words, but Damon hears.
Stefan closes his eyes when Damon’s hand rests on the back of neck. “Me too.” Damon squeezes gently with one hand and reaches for another decanter (round and filled with something clear) he pulls the stopper out and the scent of juniper is overwhelming.
Sharp, crisp, a bit pungent, and edged with pine.
Next Part
Title: Throw Yourself From Skin to Skin
Pairing: Damon/anyone he damn well wants
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Damon is a vampire. There will be death, rape, torture, sex, bloodplay, etc.
Summary: Damon screws (with) Mystic Falls, episode by episode.
Spoilers: 1.14 Fool Me Once
Notes: thank you
moosesal for the betaPrevious parts here
Stefan finds Damon at home in his favorite leather armchair by the fireplace. The boarding house is dark except for the roaring fire. In the dancing light of the flames Stefan spots three crystal decanters tipped over on the floor within arms reach of Damon. Another bottle open, but mostly full, rests between the juncture of his thighs. Damon appears to be relaxed and sprawling -- legs splayed wide, spine curved just so in the chair -- but Stefan knows better. He can see the tension in the hands, shoulders, and jaw.
He hasn’t seen Damon this wrecked since the night it all began. He hopes he never will again.
He wants to comfort his brother; squeeze his shoulder and tell him that everything will be all right. It won’t be, of course -- how could it -- but that doesn’t change the fact Stefan wants Damon to find solace with him.
“Come to gloat?” The tone is so bitter he almost expects Damon’s mouth to pucker. “Want to rub it in? How I’ve wasted a century and a half trying to free the love of my life from a fate worse than death only to find out she’s been--” Damon’s voice cracks and then breaks. He brings the bottle of Scotch to his mouth and drinks deep. Stefan watches as a drop of the liquor slides from Damon’s mouth to his chin. He moves further into the room, close enough that if Damon wanted, if he would allow it, Stefan could touch him.
“No.” He says it as softly and with as little inflection as he can. He squats down, resting on his heels so that he can be eye level with his brother.
Damon huffs out a breath and blows his bangs out of his eyes. He stares at Stefan and Stefan stares right back. Stefan holds Damon’s gaze and waits for him to make the next move. The ticking of the grandmother clock in the corner and the snap, crackle, pop of the fire are the only sounds, it gives this moment an eerie and nearly timeless feel. For a moment time bends and Stefan is reliving the night Damon told him he’d joined the Confederacy. Damon had been just as drunk and worse, he’d been exactly this betrayed. Only this time it was Katherine and not their father who’d ripped out Damon’s heart.
Stefan’s patience is rewarded when Damon offers him the decanter. He takes it from Damon’s hand and drinks deeply from the bottle. Half of it is gone when he carefully places the antique crystal on the floor between Damon and himself. Damon reaches for the bottle. His fingers slide down the surface before he manages to get a grip on it. He drinks from it, then clutches the bottle with both hands, holding it against his chest. Not unlike a child with a favorite toy.
The fire pops loudly and a log rolls, sending up a flare of sparks that Stefan can see reflected in Damon’s eyes. He’s never seen anyone this desolated before. Has no idea how to comfort the brother who claims to hate him. Whom he claims to hate (a lie, a 145-year habitual lie). He moves cautiously toward his brother, as if any sudden move will startle him into fleeing, or worse, a killing spree. Stefan moves as slowly as possible, making sure to telegraph his every move even though Damon’s attention appears to be solely on the fire. Stefan winds up on the floor next to Damon’s feet, with his back resting against the chair.
Stefan reaches for the decanter once again. He holds it up to the light of the fire and admires the glow of the Scotch through the finely cut crystal. “Scotch is for squares.” He speaks the words out loud but he hears a ghost of Lexie’s voice echo in his head. Prohibition. Stefan had never been able to remember what liquor went in which type of decanter. Damon had proclaimed it didn’t matter when most of what they had was bathtub gin in the first place, but Lexie had always insisted on propriety back then.
Lexie. Stefan drinks then, empties the bottle. He wants to destroy it, smash it against the fireplace and watch the crystal shards scatter across the room. But he doesn’t. Stefan has rarely done the things he wants to do, has instead always done what he should. Case in point, it should be Damon apologizing to him for killing his best friend, for ending one of the best people Stefan has ever known. That is not how this is going to go.
He leans against Damon’s leg, resting his temple against his brother’s knee. “I’m sorry.” Barely any sound comes out; it is more of a breath than spoken words, but Damon hears.
Stefan closes his eyes when Damon’s hand rests on the back of neck. “Me too.” Damon squeezes gently with one hand and reaches for another decanter (round and filled with something clear) he pulls the stopper out and the scent of juniper is overwhelming.
Sharp, crisp, a bit pungent, and edged with pine.
Next Part
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I'd been so angry at Damon for killing her. Still am, just can't get her out of my head. LOL.
*hugs*
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