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Title: Your Childhood Home Is Just Powder-White Bone
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Damon/Elena
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: This was written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stainofmylove over at her Wish Meme. She asked for "Damon/Elena, the pair trapped/hiding in a small space. Elena's wounded and bleeding. ETC: Would prefer Elena POV; Something dark, angsty, dealing with blood/sex/pain/pleasure/hate/love confusion." It took me a ridiculously long time to write this but many rewrites later, I'm finally hitting 'post.'
Summary: "Damon had picked her up at the corner and told her she looked like hell and black was not her color and he'd been careless with his words and dismissive of her pain and for that (just for today) Elena would happily joined him on a roadtrip to hell."
Elena hit the floor of the root cellar with dull thud that nonetheless knocked the breath from her lungs and made the pain from the stake shoved into her thigh flare into white-hot agony. She was barely conscious of Damon's body striking the ground next to her, too enswathed in the bright, blinding agony from the stake shoved into her leg. The pain washed away everything– her fear as the witch chanted above them, the dull, grinding hurt of Jer's death, everything gone in waves of strictly physical pain.
When it finally abated and Elena was able to breathe without gasping again, the witch was gone and Damon was stroking her hair, a disconcertingly Stefan-like action.
She pushed herself to her elbows. The warped wood of the trapdoor let in scattered patches of moonlight, enough that she could dimly make out empty shelving against the walls. She turned her head to meet Damon's bright eyes.
"The bitch locked us in," he said, voice vicious. His face was close enough that she saw his nostrils flare as he inhaled. "And she hurt you."
Elena would have froze but she was dizzy enough from blood loss that Damon even at his worst couldn't keep her head up. She let herself side back down.
"Elena!" he snarled. "Elena, don't fall asleep."
"I won't," she said, even as her eyes closed, the blackness in her head as welcoming as a soft bed.
She'd left Jeremy's wake to be here. Her living room had been full of people she didn't want to talk to, she'd been dodging Stefan's calls since she found Jer's chilled body (Stefan made her happy, traitorously happy, he was handsome and steady and immortal, the optimistic future with soulful eyes and broad shoulders and being with him would soothe, would be a betrayal of Jer, so miserable that her painkillers were the only way out) and Mrs Lockwood expressing her condolences while she reached for a shrimp puff had been the final straw.
Elena had been quietly ripping clothes off hangers and throwing dresses and blouses to the floor, anything to try to get the pressure in her chest out and then Damon had called.
Damon had called and told her that he'd found Isabel's witch – and could Elena come out and spy?
He had picked her up at the corner and told her she looked like hell and black was not her color and he'd been careless with his words and dismissive of her pain and for that (just for today) Elena would happily joined him on a roadtrip to hell.
"Elena. Elena!" Damon grabbed a fistful of her hair and shook her, reawakening the agony in her leg. She shrieked as she jerked upright, slapping at him.
"You bastard,"she yelled, dizzy and angry and then she realized that Damon's eyes were red, his fangs distended, that her blood was all over his hands.
"Do you want to die?" Damon practically purred the words. He leaned towards her, put his face so close to hers that even in the dim light she could see the veins threading away from his eyes.
Elena's mouth went dry. She shook her head.
"You sure?" He traced a hand down her neck, his fingers wet, and then gripped her vervain necklace, the chain cutting into the back of her neck. "Then say it."
"I don't want to die," Elena breathed.
Faster than her eye could follow, Damon raised his wrist to his mouth, tore, and then he was shoving her back against the ground, his bleeding wrist pressed hard against her mouth. This time, she didn't fight, didn't struggle. She tilted her head and drank, Damon's blood coppery and familiar. It cleared her head, made her feel stable, solid, sensitized.
Damon reached down, grabbed the stake and yanked. He moved faster than her eye could follow, but she still felt every centimeter of the wood withdrawing from her body. It didn't hurt, though - her whole body felt suffused with heat, and as Damon tore away her nylons before stripping off his shirt and wrapping her injury in the fabric, the sensations from it vacillated between pleasure and pain so fast she couldn't decide whether it hurt or not. It was like the second before orgasm, only stretched out for minutes at a time.
"Better?" he asked, voice thick and fangs still flashing behind his lips.
"Yes," Elena answered in a very small voice.
"Good," Damon said, wrapping his jacket around her shoulders and picking her up. "That was a nasty little splinter."
"Splinter?" she asked incredulously.
"Whine, whine, whine," he muttered as he sat her down, back against the wall, and then started to inspect the root cellar. "I've seen men with wounds twice that bad get up and walk back into battle."
Elena cocked her head. If she focused, she could almost see his figure moving through the gloom and not just when he was pacing through the few bars of moonlight that lay in sections across the dirt floor.
"Was that during the civil war?" she asked.
"Yep," he answered. There was a sound of impact and then Damon swore.
Elena settled herself more comfortably against the wall. "Do you see any way out?" she when the cursing stopped.
"I suppose I could always toss you out, see what happens," Damon said musingly.
"And then I, what, crawl the two miles back to your car and drive myself to the hospital?" Elena considered. "Actually... actually that might work."
Damon laughed.
"No, I'm serious."
"Miss Gilbert," Damon said, drawling her last name, "there is no fucking way I'm pitching you out of here to sneak past the Wicked Witch of the South all by your lonesome."
"Why? Because you're such a gentlemen?" Elena snarked back and Damon's face was suddenly in front of hers.
"Oh, no, my intentions for you are thoroughly dishonorable," he breathed. He darted his head forward, bit her bottom lip hard enough to sting, waited.
Elena realized a second after she flicked her tongue over where he'd nipped that that was the wrong reaction but by then it was too late to smack him and have it seem authentic.
"I still think that me sneaking–"
"I'm not throwing you out of this root cellar; drop that idea now," Damon snapped.
Elena propped up her left knee and rested her chin on it. "I don't suppose you brought your cell phone?"
"Did you?"
Well, that answered that.
"So why did you come home?" Elena said after a while. Damon was still pacing back and forth.
"My brother found a human who looked like our ex-girlfriend; how could I stay away?" he answered flippantly.
"I meant from the war," Elena tapped her toes together, her leg only twinging slightly at the motion.
He laughed. "Trying to crib notes? History test coming up?"
"Actually, yes," Elena admitted, "but it's on the 1920's."
"That is a much better time period," Damon said, coming over to sit next to her. "Hot girls in tiny dresses and hot jazz.... much better than 1862. 1862 was loud and wasteful and boring. That's what they don't tell you about war - how fucking dull and pointless it is."
Elena reached up, put her hand on his bare shoulder. Damon whipped his head around, stared hard at her. Something twisted at the back of his eyes, but when he spoke, his voice was soft, "Sorry I don't make good cliff's notes."
"I asked because I was curious," Elena replied, stroking a little. His skin was smooth and felt deliciously cool against her fingers. "Can't I be curious?"
Damon laughed, without breath, almost without sound, and dragged his first two fingers through the wound on her thigh. Elena shivered, flinched, and didn't look away as he licked his fingers, messy, smearing blood across his bottom lip.
"Darling," he said, so close she could smell her own blood on his mouth, "You have no idea how dangerous your curiosity is."
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Damon/Elena
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: This was written for
stainofmylove over at her Wish Meme. She asked for "Damon/Elena, the pair trapped/hiding in a small space. Elena's wounded and bleeding. ETC: Would prefer Elena POV; Something dark, angsty, dealing with blood/sex/pain/pleasure/hate/love confusion." It took me a ridiculously long time to write this but many rewrites later, I'm finally hitting 'post.'Summary: "Damon had picked her up at the corner and told her she looked like hell and black was not her color and he'd been careless with his words and dismissive of her pain and for that (just for today) Elena would happily joined him on a roadtrip to hell."
Elena hit the floor of the root cellar with dull thud that nonetheless knocked the breath from her lungs and made the pain from the stake shoved into her thigh flare into white-hot agony. She was barely conscious of Damon's body striking the ground next to her, too enswathed in the bright, blinding agony from the stake shoved into her leg. The pain washed away everything– her fear as the witch chanted above them, the dull, grinding hurt of Jer's death, everything gone in waves of strictly physical pain.
When it finally abated and Elena was able to breathe without gasping again, the witch was gone and Damon was stroking her hair, a disconcertingly Stefan-like action.
She pushed herself to her elbows. The warped wood of the trapdoor let in scattered patches of moonlight, enough that she could dimly make out empty shelving against the walls. She turned her head to meet Damon's bright eyes.
"The bitch locked us in," he said, voice vicious. His face was close enough that she saw his nostrils flare as he inhaled. "And she hurt you."
Elena would have froze but she was dizzy enough from blood loss that Damon even at his worst couldn't keep her head up. She let herself side back down.
"Elena!" he snarled. "Elena, don't fall asleep."
"I won't," she said, even as her eyes closed, the blackness in her head as welcoming as a soft bed.
She'd left Jeremy's wake to be here. Her living room had been full of people she didn't want to talk to, she'd been dodging Stefan's calls since she found Jer's chilled body (Stefan made her happy, traitorously happy, he was handsome and steady and immortal, the optimistic future with soulful eyes and broad shoulders and being with him would soothe, would be a betrayal of Jer, so miserable that her painkillers were the only way out) and Mrs Lockwood expressing her condolences while she reached for a shrimp puff had been the final straw.
Elena had been quietly ripping clothes off hangers and throwing dresses and blouses to the floor, anything to try to get the pressure in her chest out and then Damon had called.
Damon had called and told her that he'd found Isabel's witch – and could Elena come out and spy?
He had picked her up at the corner and told her she looked like hell and black was not her color and he'd been careless with his words and dismissive of her pain and for that (just for today) Elena would happily joined him on a roadtrip to hell.
"Elena. Elena!" Damon grabbed a fistful of her hair and shook her, reawakening the agony in her leg. She shrieked as she jerked upright, slapping at him.
"You bastard,"she yelled, dizzy and angry and then she realized that Damon's eyes were red, his fangs distended, that her blood was all over his hands.
"Do you want to die?" Damon practically purred the words. He leaned towards her, put his face so close to hers that even in the dim light she could see the veins threading away from his eyes.
Elena's mouth went dry. She shook her head.
"You sure?" He traced a hand down her neck, his fingers wet, and then gripped her vervain necklace, the chain cutting into the back of her neck. "Then say it."
"I don't want to die," Elena breathed.
Faster than her eye could follow, Damon raised his wrist to his mouth, tore, and then he was shoving her back against the ground, his bleeding wrist pressed hard against her mouth. This time, she didn't fight, didn't struggle. She tilted her head and drank, Damon's blood coppery and familiar. It cleared her head, made her feel stable, solid, sensitized.
Damon reached down, grabbed the stake and yanked. He moved faster than her eye could follow, but she still felt every centimeter of the wood withdrawing from her body. It didn't hurt, though - her whole body felt suffused with heat, and as Damon tore away her nylons before stripping off his shirt and wrapping her injury in the fabric, the sensations from it vacillated between pleasure and pain so fast she couldn't decide whether it hurt or not. It was like the second before orgasm, only stretched out for minutes at a time.
"Better?" he asked, voice thick and fangs still flashing behind his lips.
"Yes," Elena answered in a very small voice.
"Good," Damon said, wrapping his jacket around her shoulders and picking her up. "That was a nasty little splinter."
"Splinter?" she asked incredulously.
"Whine, whine, whine," he muttered as he sat her down, back against the wall, and then started to inspect the root cellar. "I've seen men with wounds twice that bad get up and walk back into battle."
Elena cocked her head. If she focused, she could almost see his figure moving through the gloom and not just when he was pacing through the few bars of moonlight that lay in sections across the dirt floor.
"Was that during the civil war?" she asked.
"Yep," he answered. There was a sound of impact and then Damon swore.
Elena settled herself more comfortably against the wall. "Do you see any way out?" she when the cursing stopped.
"I suppose I could always toss you out, see what happens," Damon said musingly.
"And then I, what, crawl the two miles back to your car and drive myself to the hospital?" Elena considered. "Actually... actually that might work."
Damon laughed.
"No, I'm serious."
"Miss Gilbert," Damon said, drawling her last name, "there is no fucking way I'm pitching you out of here to sneak past the Wicked Witch of the South all by your lonesome."
"Why? Because you're such a gentlemen?" Elena snarked back and Damon's face was suddenly in front of hers.
"Oh, no, my intentions for you are thoroughly dishonorable," he breathed. He darted his head forward, bit her bottom lip hard enough to sting, waited.
Elena realized a second after she flicked her tongue over where he'd nipped that that was the wrong reaction but by then it was too late to smack him and have it seem authentic.
"I still think that me sneaking–"
"I'm not throwing you out of this root cellar; drop that idea now," Damon snapped.
Elena propped up her left knee and rested her chin on it. "I don't suppose you brought your cell phone?"
"Did you?"
Well, that answered that.
"So why did you come home?" Elena said after a while. Damon was still pacing back and forth.
"My brother found a human who looked like our ex-girlfriend; how could I stay away?" he answered flippantly.
"I meant from the war," Elena tapped her toes together, her leg only twinging slightly at the motion.
He laughed. "Trying to crib notes? History test coming up?"
"Actually, yes," Elena admitted, "but it's on the 1920's."
"That is a much better time period," Damon said, coming over to sit next to her. "Hot girls in tiny dresses and hot jazz.... much better than 1862. 1862 was loud and wasteful and boring. That's what they don't tell you about war - how fucking dull and pointless it is."
Elena reached up, put her hand on his bare shoulder. Damon whipped his head around, stared hard at her. Something twisted at the back of his eyes, but when he spoke, his voice was soft, "Sorry I don't make good cliff's notes."
"I asked because I was curious," Elena replied, stroking a little. His skin was smooth and felt deliciously cool against her fingers. "Can't I be curious?"
Damon laughed, without breath, almost without sound, and dragged his first two fingers through the wound on her thigh. Elena shivered, flinched, and didn't look away as he licked his fingers, messy, smearing blood across his bottom lip.
"Darling," he said, so close she could smell her own blood on his mouth, "You have no idea how dangerous your curiosity is."
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You must continue!
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I really enjoy Elena's almost-bravery in the face of the supernatural in her life.
And I've written out all the Damon/Elena bits for this story - the continuation would be Bonnie coming to rescue them.
:fans self:
"Darling," he said, so close she could smell her own blood on his mouth, "You have no idea how dangerous your curiosity is.""
Oh, so hotttt.
I hope you fall deeply in love with writing Damon/Elena fic and continue to write it for a long, long time. <3 <3 <3 (I'm hooked on the show, but have been hovering around the edges of the fandom bc I'm concerned about catty Stephan vs Damon fangirl battles. ;) Is there a particular community/etc your recc for D/E ficage?)
Re: :fans self:
But I'm sorry to say that I have not been super-impressed with the fic in this fandom. There have been a few good fics, but not much. Honestly, you'll have to tell me were all the cool kids are hanging. ^_^
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Elena was everything I love about her on the show (smart, wily, brave, kind of sexily playful); it was a real joy to get such a great fic from her POV
For all her lack of physical strength (in that she's a size two human against vampires) she is surprisingly badass in a lot of ways. I remember how happy she was about fighting back against that one vamp. I dearly want her to get vamp-slaying lessons from Alaric.
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It was like the second before orgasm, only stretched out for minutes at a time.
Hawt. After I read Love Is A Blood Sport I couldn't stop. And I'm sooo glad I couldn't.
Elena realized a second after she flicked her tongue over where he'd nipped that that was the wrong reaction but by then it was too late to smack him and have it seem authentic.
Because OF COURSE she can't resist his animal magnetism! And the genuine way Damon just wants to distract her from pain - THIS IS THE DYNAMIC I WANT FOR NEXT SEASON. **crosses fingers**
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Because OF COURSE she can't resist his animal magnetism! And the genuine way Damon just wants to distract her from pain - THIS IS THE DYNAMIC I WANT FOR NEXT SEASON. **crosses fingers**
*nods*
I think even from the early episodes you can see that they're a part of Damon that wants what's legitimately best for Elena.