Fic - Maverick (Katherine, Damon/Katherine) pg, 1/1
Title: Maverick
Summary: Katherine likes to play games.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 1,211 words. Set mid season-two, sometime post 2x15, The Dinner Party. Mentions of Damon/Elena and allusions to Stefan/Katherine. Written for the prompt I look inside myself and see my heart is black over at the Petrova Fire Comment Ficathon. I'm always late to these sorts of things. Thank-you to leobrat for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not. First time with this character, so con-crit is both welcome and appreciated.
Katherine likes to play games.
She enjoys the give and take and the push and pull, the lovely little feeling that has yet to diminish over time that starts between her toes and spreads to the base of her skull after every single one of her victories. She especially enjoys the feel of her opponent's pulse beneath her lips as her teeth skim their jugular, tongue flicking against the beat of blood under their skin the moment before she pounces like a hunter to their prey, her teeth sinking in with precision and skill at just the right moment, with just the right amount of force.
In the beginning, over a century ago when she was still very much the same person she is now, she loved Stefan and toyed with Damon. The compulsion was a conscious decision, a carefully plotted move. Katherine perpetually wants what she can never have, and she used each boy as a means to completely different ends.
Nothing much has changed, she muses, as she trails the palm of her hand across Damon's tight shoulders, touch lingering a tad bit longer than necessary. She circles around him, her movements slow and precise, quiet. When she's before him her fingers drop to her sides, fisting and uncurling, her thumb drawling across the line in the center of her palm as she does so. Damon doesn't look up, his hands tight around the glass in-between his fingers, feet flat against the floor, shoulders perfectly square. Katherine takes a step closer, weight naturally poised over her left foot and she clicks her tongue around the sound of his name.
"Don't you ever get tired of it?" she asks and here, now, is the first time he dares to note her presence.
They've gotten good at this specific game, this endless cycle of cat and mouse. She lets him have the upper hand here, in his house. Allows him to constantly believe he's one step ahead. It always makes it that more enjoyable when she finally manages to draw the first drop of blood.
"Of what?" He quirks his eyebrow in her direction. "You? Always."
Katherine laughs, low and throaty, fingers reaching out to wipe at the hair covering his forehead. Damon, of course, does not react, barely even looks at her.
"Of always playing second best to your little brother," she singsongs. Her lips curl on cue, her eyes shining playfully.
He smacks her hand away. "Stop it."
"Stop what?"
He does that crazy thing with his eyes. "Trying to bait me."
She feigns innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Damon ignores her, rolls his neck to the left and then the right, glass to his lips as he takes another slow sip. She watches, enjoys the way the muscles of his forearm ripple with every movement, the way his fingers are curled tightly around the tumbler, strong, but not too much so. She watches him and he never even looks at her and something resembling righteous anger floods her senses and prickles underneath her skin as she shifts her weight back and forth, her own fingers permanently curled into fists at her sides. She may not miss him, exactly, but she does miss the way he would play into every single one of her carefully crafted plans, the way he would give her exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it.
Katherine likes to maintain that she always has the edge, the upper hand, but she is quickly starting to think maybe there were some faulty cracks in her line of thinking somewhere. It makes her thirst for blood, that knowledge, the bitter taste of defeat constantly at the back of her throat as she feels herself losing control, so she starts draws blood the only way she can.
“She’s never going to love you, you know,” Katherine says quietly, fingers reaching forward for his drink. She is surprised at Damon’s rare act of kindness as he allows her.
“Stop it.”
With the tumbler to her mouth, she draws the smooth glass across her bottom lip, back and forth, back and forth in slow motion. Her lips twist into a smile as she does so. “Stop what?”
“Playing these stupid games. It’s getting old.”
After finishing the contents of Damon’s glass in a solitary gulp, she sets it to the side. “You used to love to play games with me, Damon.” She mews, stepping closer, her right knee resting just slightly on the edge of the cushion, occupying that tiny space between Damon’s thigh and the side of the chair. She follows suit with the other, her movements slow and cautious, methodical, and Katherine is only half-shocked at Damon’s lack of argument, at the way he allows her to settle her weight over his knees, until she’s straddling his lap.
“You’re starting to act like a cat in heat, Katherine. It’s not at all becoming.”
“I think you know it, too,” she continues, ignoring him. Her head tilts to the side as she pretends to regard him carefully. Damon looks at her, eyebrow raised, palms flat against the arms of the chair. He doesn’t touch her. He barely ever touches her anymore. After a moment she continues, her tone soft and quiet as she says, “You would burn this city to the ground if you thought it would save her life. It’s revolting to her. It disgusts her, Damon and that, right there, is why it’s always going to be Stefan.”
There is something that flickers across his face, a mere fleck of emotion that she catches because after a century and a half she still knows what to look for. Still knows how to draw his blood slowly and painfully and without an ounce of remorse. It’s gone in the blink of an eye, but it’s what drives her to reach out carefully, to run her thumb across his bottom lip and the corner of his mouth.
“Me, on the other hand,” she laughs, smile almost honest, and she expects his counter-move before he even goes to make it. Katherine prepares for his fingers tight around her wrist, twisting and turning until it would have hurt somebody that wasn’t older, wiser, and more experienced.
“Stop it,” he breathes, cheek between his teeth, tone borderline murderous as he twists her arm farther. Damon’s eyes widen and narrow simultaneously.
“Why? Does the truth hurt, baby?” She’s laughing at him, leaning in until her mouth draws near to his, until all it takes is a tilt of her head to brush her lips against his.
When she reaches her endpoint, when she kisses him he stills, fingers digging into her skin, and it takes a second, a mere moment before he gives in, until he tilts his head and opens his mouth wide underneath hers. It’s angry and messy, hard, and his right hand is still wrapped tightly around her wrist, his left digging into her hair, tugging and pulling until he has something to carry with him. The edges of Katherine’s mouth are twisting into a victorious smile against Damon’s, and with skill and precision she draws his bottom lip into her mouth, biting down until she tastes blood.
They were always good at this particular game.
Summary: Katherine likes to play games.
Rating: pg
Author's Notes: 1,211 words. Set mid season-two, sometime post 2x15, The Dinner Party. Mentions of Damon/Elena and allusions to Stefan/Katherine. Written for the prompt I look inside myself and see my heart is black over at the Petrova Fire Comment Ficathon. I'm always late to these sorts of things. Thank-you to leobrat for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not. First time with this character, so con-crit is both welcome and appreciated.
Katherine likes to play games.
She enjoys the give and take and the push and pull, the lovely little feeling that has yet to diminish over time that starts between her toes and spreads to the base of her skull after every single one of her victories. She especially enjoys the feel of her opponent's pulse beneath her lips as her teeth skim their jugular, tongue flicking against the beat of blood under their skin the moment before she pounces like a hunter to their prey, her teeth sinking in with precision and skill at just the right moment, with just the right amount of force.
In the beginning, over a century ago when she was still very much the same person she is now, she loved Stefan and toyed with Damon. The compulsion was a conscious decision, a carefully plotted move. Katherine perpetually wants what she can never have, and she used each boy as a means to completely different ends.
Nothing much has changed, she muses, as she trails the palm of her hand across Damon's tight shoulders, touch lingering a tad bit longer than necessary. She circles around him, her movements slow and precise, quiet. When she's before him her fingers drop to her sides, fisting and uncurling, her thumb drawling across the line in the center of her palm as she does so. Damon doesn't look up, his hands tight around the glass in-between his fingers, feet flat against the floor, shoulders perfectly square. Katherine takes a step closer, weight naturally poised over her left foot and she clicks her tongue around the sound of his name.
"Don't you ever get tired of it?" she asks and here, now, is the first time he dares to note her presence.
They've gotten good at this specific game, this endless cycle of cat and mouse. She lets him have the upper hand here, in his house. Allows him to constantly believe he's one step ahead. It always makes it that more enjoyable when she finally manages to draw the first drop of blood.
"Of what?" He quirks his eyebrow in her direction. "You? Always."
Katherine laughs, low and throaty, fingers reaching out to wipe at the hair covering his forehead. Damon, of course, does not react, barely even looks at her.
"Of always playing second best to your little brother," she singsongs. Her lips curl on cue, her eyes shining playfully.
He smacks her hand away. "Stop it."
"Stop what?"
He does that crazy thing with his eyes. "Trying to bait me."
She feigns innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Damon ignores her, rolls his neck to the left and then the right, glass to his lips as he takes another slow sip. She watches, enjoys the way the muscles of his forearm ripple with every movement, the way his fingers are curled tightly around the tumbler, strong, but not too much so. She watches him and he never even looks at her and something resembling righteous anger floods her senses and prickles underneath her skin as she shifts her weight back and forth, her own fingers permanently curled into fists at her sides. She may not miss him, exactly, but she does miss the way he would play into every single one of her carefully crafted plans, the way he would give her exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it.
Katherine likes to maintain that she always has the edge, the upper hand, but she is quickly starting to think maybe there were some faulty cracks in her line of thinking somewhere. It makes her thirst for blood, that knowledge, the bitter taste of defeat constantly at the back of her throat as she feels herself losing control, so she starts draws blood the only way she can.
“She’s never going to love you, you know,” Katherine says quietly, fingers reaching forward for his drink. She is surprised at Damon’s rare act of kindness as he allows her.
“Stop it.”
With the tumbler to her mouth, she draws the smooth glass across her bottom lip, back and forth, back and forth in slow motion. Her lips twist into a smile as she does so. “Stop what?”
“Playing these stupid games. It’s getting old.”
After finishing the contents of Damon’s glass in a solitary gulp, she sets it to the side. “You used to love to play games with me, Damon.” She mews, stepping closer, her right knee resting just slightly on the edge of the cushion, occupying that tiny space between Damon’s thigh and the side of the chair. She follows suit with the other, her movements slow and cautious, methodical, and Katherine is only half-shocked at Damon’s lack of argument, at the way he allows her to settle her weight over his knees, until she’s straddling his lap.
“You’re starting to act like a cat in heat, Katherine. It’s not at all becoming.”
“I think you know it, too,” she continues, ignoring him. Her head tilts to the side as she pretends to regard him carefully. Damon looks at her, eyebrow raised, palms flat against the arms of the chair. He doesn’t touch her. He barely ever touches her anymore. After a moment she continues, her tone soft and quiet as she says, “You would burn this city to the ground if you thought it would save her life. It’s revolting to her. It disgusts her, Damon and that, right there, is why it’s always going to be Stefan.”
There is something that flickers across his face, a mere fleck of emotion that she catches because after a century and a half she still knows what to look for. Still knows how to draw his blood slowly and painfully and without an ounce of remorse. It’s gone in the blink of an eye, but it’s what drives her to reach out carefully, to run her thumb across his bottom lip and the corner of his mouth.
“Me, on the other hand,” she laughs, smile almost honest, and she expects his counter-move before he even goes to make it. Katherine prepares for his fingers tight around her wrist, twisting and turning until it would have hurt somebody that wasn’t older, wiser, and more experienced.
“Stop it,” he breathes, cheek between his teeth, tone borderline murderous as he twists her arm farther. Damon’s eyes widen and narrow simultaneously.
“Why? Does the truth hurt, baby?” She’s laughing at him, leaning in until her mouth draws near to his, until all it takes is a tilt of her head to brush her lips against his.
When she reaches her endpoint, when she kisses him he stills, fingers digging into her skin, and it takes a second, a mere moment before he gives in, until he tilts his head and opens his mouth wide underneath hers. It’s angry and messy, hard, and his right hand is still wrapped tightly around her wrist, his left digging into her hair, tugging and pulling until he has something to carry with him. The edges of Katherine’s mouth are twisting into a victorious smile against Damon’s, and with skill and precision she draws his bottom lip into her mouth, biting down until she tastes blood.
They were always good at this particular game.