untitled ficlet
Jan. 20th, 2011 09:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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fandom_stocking work ... my first attempt at Vampire Diaries fic! 700-ish words of Damon angst written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chosenfire28's stocking. Stefan/Elena, drifting in a vaguely OT3-ish sort of direction.
Some evenings - more than Damon would like, quite frankly - Stefan and Elena show up with that Look on their faces. There's usually touching involved, or giggling; there's definitely a charged atmosphere that Damon can feel even when he's halfway across the house. Damon often thinks that, if he were smart, he'd leave the house those nights.
No one has ever accused Damon of being smart.
He figures Stefan is just taunting him most of the time. Okay, sometimes. Stefan may not be as ... well, vindictive as Damon, but he has to know that Damon can hear them, right? By now, Damon knows the exact pitch of the sigh Elena's giggle will fade into when Stefan's mouth trails down some patch of sensitive skin. He knows the squeak Stefan's bed makes when it adjusts to the weight of two people, one on top of the other. He recognizes the sound that Stefan makes, low in his throat, when Elena moves against him. He's heard his brother make similar noises over the years, of course, but there's just something different about the way he is with Elena - in bed, out of it, all the time. The sound of it, the sight, the experience makes Damon's skin itch.
Elena talks, tells Stefan what she likes and what she wants. Damon has a long mental list of things she's mentioned ... not that he expects to ever have a use for said list, but, you know, just in case. Or just because he's a masochist. As she loses herself, though, her words become increasingly incoherent, until she's left quietly begging Stefan in a low, breathy voice. Stefan, for his part, doesn't talk much once the clothes come off. He communicates mostly in grunts and groans - until the end, when he simply repeats Elena's name like a prayer.
Damon has never watched them. He could, he knows. They don't seem to be aware of anyone but each other. He knows how to be quiet; he could slide up to the door of Stefan's bedroom and play voyeur. He's been tempted. God, but he's been tempted - he sees images of their skin sliding together against the black of his eyelids when he closes his eyes. Maybe that's exactly why he's never done it. He's good enough at making himself crazy without going the whole way. He does, however, occasionally open the door a crack once he's heard their breathing even out into sleep. Elena's arm drapes carelessly across Stefan's torso; Stefan's head rests close enough to Elena's on the pillow that strands of dark hair drift across his face.
Damon eventually goes to bed. He refuses to believe he's cold. It's a trick of his mind, and he's used to circumventing his own brain.
He could leave the house. He could go up to the Grill and drink himself into oblivion. He could go feed; drinking the cold stuff is all well and good, but not all that satisfying if he's honest with himself. There are half a dozen people he could harass for fun ... not really anyone he could just, you know, hang out with. Not that he wants to hang out. He just wants ... something. Anything that would sooth the itch that dances across his skin like electricity.
In the morning, he mocks them both as they wander through the kitchen like zombies. Neither Stefan nor Elena can quite be called a morning person. Damon - well, sleep's not usually his friend, so he's learned how to make any point of the day the right time, if he needs. Damon always makes the coffee, though. He'll never admit it if asked, but he likes hearing them each thank him, as grudging and grumpy the gratitude might be.
One day, Damon will leave this ridiculous town and go live a normal vampire sort of life again. Some days, he swears that day will come soon. But he made a promise to be honest with himself a long time ago. He'll be here as long as they are. That probably makes him the dumbest vampire ever to survive a century and a half. He's made his peace with that. Sort of. Sometimes. When he's in a good mood.
fandom_stocking work ... my first attempt at Vampire Diaries fic! 700-ish words of Damon angst written for chosenfire28's stocking. Stefan/Elena, drifting in a vaguely OT3-ish sort of direction. Some evenings - more than Damon would like, quite frankly - Stefan and Elena show up with that Look on their faces. There's usually touching involved, or giggling; there's definitely a charged atmosphere that Damon can feel even when he's halfway across the house. Damon often thinks that, if he were smart, he'd leave the house those nights.
No one has ever accused Damon of being smart.
He figures Stefan is just taunting him most of the time. Okay, sometimes. Stefan may not be as ... well, vindictive as Damon, but he has to know that Damon can hear them, right? By now, Damon knows the exact pitch of the sigh Elena's giggle will fade into when Stefan's mouth trails down some patch of sensitive skin. He knows the squeak Stefan's bed makes when it adjusts to the weight of two people, one on top of the other. He recognizes the sound that Stefan makes, low in his throat, when Elena moves against him. He's heard his brother make similar noises over the years, of course, but there's just something different about the way he is with Elena - in bed, out of it, all the time. The sound of it, the sight, the experience makes Damon's skin itch.
Elena talks, tells Stefan what she likes and what she wants. Damon has a long mental list of things she's mentioned ... not that he expects to ever have a use for said list, but, you know, just in case. Or just because he's a masochist. As she loses herself, though, her words become increasingly incoherent, until she's left quietly begging Stefan in a low, breathy voice. Stefan, for his part, doesn't talk much once the clothes come off. He communicates mostly in grunts and groans - until the end, when he simply repeats Elena's name like a prayer.
Damon has never watched them. He could, he knows. They don't seem to be aware of anyone but each other. He knows how to be quiet; he could slide up to the door of Stefan's bedroom and play voyeur. He's been tempted. God, but he's been tempted - he sees images of their skin sliding together against the black of his eyelids when he closes his eyes. Maybe that's exactly why he's never done it. He's good enough at making himself crazy without going the whole way. He does, however, occasionally open the door a crack once he's heard their breathing even out into sleep. Elena's arm drapes carelessly across Stefan's torso; Stefan's head rests close enough to Elena's on the pillow that strands of dark hair drift across his face.
Damon eventually goes to bed. He refuses to believe he's cold. It's a trick of his mind, and he's used to circumventing his own brain.
He could leave the house. He could go up to the Grill and drink himself into oblivion. He could go feed; drinking the cold stuff is all well and good, but not all that satisfying if he's honest with himself. There are half a dozen people he could harass for fun ... not really anyone he could just, you know, hang out with. Not that he wants to hang out. He just wants ... something. Anything that would sooth the itch that dances across his skin like electricity.
In the morning, he mocks them both as they wander through the kitchen like zombies. Neither Stefan nor Elena can quite be called a morning person. Damon - well, sleep's not usually his friend, so he's learned how to make any point of the day the right time, if he needs. Damon always makes the coffee, though. He'll never admit it if asked, but he likes hearing them each thank him, as grudging and grumpy the gratitude might be.
One day, Damon will leave this ridiculous town and go live a normal vampire sort of life again. Some days, he swears that day will come soon. But he made a promise to be honest with himself a long time ago. He'll be here as long as they are. That probably makes him the dumbest vampire ever to survive a century and a half. He's made his peace with that. Sort of. Sometimes. When he's in a good mood.
