Fic - We Were There First (Candice Accola/Ian Somerhalder, RPF) R, 1/1
Title: We Were There First
Summary: This is probably a very bad idea.
Rating: r
Author's Notes: 1,440 words. For youcallitwinter. Normal disclaimers apply: just slide right on by if this isn't your cup of tea. All mistakes are mine. These people, obviously, aren't.
Nobody would ever suspect such a thing, but way back when, in the very beginning, it was the two of them.
Candice is in-between boyfriends. Ian and Meghan are on a break (and he hadn’t been introduced to Nina yet, hadn’t yet been drawn in by the wit and charm and honest-to-god goodness Nina’s presence emits at every turn) and they are on the same flight connecting LA to Atlanta.
She is still searching for her big break, for a slight turn in luck and is stuck in coach. Ian is just looking for a project he can believe in again, for a project that will create friendships and families and last for more than seventeen episodes. Of course, he’s already had a substantial break, he doesn’t need this show to work out, he just wants it to, so he sits comfortably in first class - away from screaming babies and arguments over whether or not it is appropriate to recline your seat.
They don’t meet at boarding in LA. They don’t meet on the plane. They don’t even meet at the luggage claim in Atlanta. Instead, they run in to each other in the hotel bar. Ian is already perched at the counter, already partially transformed into Damon with his tight jeans and leather jacket, and Candice recognizes him first, sliding into the seat next to him with all the ease and charm she possesses.
Ian’s smile is large, full of teeth, almost contagious in the way it spreads across his face. Candice just smiles and motions for the bartender to head her way.
“You’re,” Ian starts, drawing the word out as his eyes narrow as he searches for the correct name. Finally, he snaps his fingers in mid-air and points a finger in her direction. “Candice, right?”
She nods and orders her drink. The bar is nearly empty. In the corner there is a man gliding his fingers over the keys of a piano and Candice recognizes the gentle melody, even searches her brain to try to find the lyrics, but can’t find them. Instead, she turns towards Ian, her glass of wine held primly between her fingers. “You ready for all of this?”
Ian takes a swig of his beer. “For all of what?”
“People seem to think this is going to be kind of a big deal.”
“I’ve learned that the way to succeed is to just nod and smile. The rest will come as it comes.”
She narrows her eyes. “What are you, like, fifty, oh, wise one? Or do you just always speak in proverbs?”
He laughs. The sound is low, throaty, and she can’t help that part of her that reacts to the sound of it. She actually quite likes the way the warmth digs under her skin and seeps into her blood, warming everything in its path. He’s an attractive guy. Candice likes attractive guys.
“No. I’ve just been… around the block a few times.”
Drawing an index finger over the rim of her glass, she chuckles. “I can imagine.”
They play the game and they play it well. They flirt, tease, act like the old friends they might just be one day. Candice likes to flirt, she likes the push and pull and the give and take of the game. The excitement of not knowing what the end result might be. Mostly, she just likes the experience, the innocence of it all. The way it feels when you lean and touch your fingertips to their forearm that very first time. The smile that tugs at the corners of the other person’s mouth as a result. To Candice it is a game - a highly complicated, skilled game. It is a game she happens to be very good at.
And Ian, well, Ian just likes the attention.
(It’s a widely known fact that Ian has always had an affinity for blondes - even though future circumstances might contradict it.)
__
By the time they make it to the elevator doors, they’ve had a few too many. They know nothing about each other still, but Ian leans his shoulder against the wall as Candice pushes the button to call the elevator. His smile is small, but there, his body leaning almost entirely into hers. She smiles knowingly to herself. Presses the button again.
“What floor are you on?” Ian asks. She can smell beer and pretzels on his breath, the soft scent of his aftershave.
“Fifth, you?”
He makes a face. “Seventh.”
“Pity,” she punctuates the word with a smack of her lips. He smiles again. So does she. The elevator doors slide open and Candice enters first, Ian closely behind. She knows where this is going and she doesn’t mind it one bit, but she isn’t willing to make the move, to lean in and whisper you want to come up? She wants him to do it, wants him to take that leap, so she still pushes the button for her floor and rocks back on her heels.
She isn’t that easy.
Apparently, he isn’t either. He leans forward and past her, his fingers brushing her arm as he reaches to push the number seven on the panel. For a while they just stand there in silence. Candice shifts her weight from left to right and Ian hums along with the muzak. They don’t talk to each other, but she lifts her eyes just in time to see him watching her in the reflection of the steel doors. She smiles again - wide, perfect, and beautifully. Candice has a great smile. Everyone tells her this and as she watches the numbers climb, she thinks, just maybe, this will be the one exception to the rule, that he isn’t going to make the move she wants him to.
But then he does.
The elevator door slides open and she’s about to walk off of it, to let it all go, when he grabs her hand, his fingers soft around her wrist. “You want to come up with me?” he asks. His voice is like gravel, thick with beer and the tequila shot they did before she’d said enough was enough.
Candice laughs and the elevator doors slide closed. She meets his eyes head on through the steel.
“I thought you would never ask.”
__
In his hotel room he tastes like salt from the tequila and pretzels. He pushes her up against the door, angles his hips towards hers and kisses her with a deep intensity she will soon find out he applies to just about everything in his life. He kisses her hard and deep, his tongue sliding over hers with precision and want and her toes start to curl right then and there.
“This is probably a very bad idea,” she says, gasping for a breath when he tears his mouth away from hers and settles it on the smooth skin of her neck.
It’s the truth, but her body, her actions say she doesn’t really care. His hands grip the skin of her thighs and linger there, his touch is warm, his fingers dancing along her skin like magic and she squirms against him, pushes her hips forward until they are flush against his.
Ian laughs, the movement shaking his shoulders, his entire body. She can feel it deep in her bones and his hands start to move slowly, pushing the fabric of her dress up, up, up, until his fingers find home in-between her legs. In the morning, Candice will sneak out before the sun creeps along the horizon. In the morning this will become one of those things - those stories you keep to yourself, but remember fondly during lonely, sleepless nights. But now, right now, she gives herself over to the moment, to the way his magnificent, skilled fingers move against her.
“You really care about that right now?” he asks huskily, and she’s about to answer, offer up some sort of smartass retort, but he starts to tease her at the exact moment she parts her lips to speak. His fingers trail up and down, up and down, closely following the line of cotton at her inner thighs. His movements elicit goosebumps to rise in their wake and she sighs, the breath leaving her in a soft woosh of air when his fingers finally dip underneath the fabric and make contact.
“Yeah,” he says, angling his mouth towards hers again. He slips his fingers inside, first one, then two, and she groans, the sound low and guttural. “That’s what I thought.”
Candice can feel his grin spread smugly against her mouth when he kisses her again. She doesn’t mind one bit.
Summary: This is probably a very bad idea.
Rating: r
Author's Notes: 1,440 words. For youcallitwinter. Normal disclaimers apply: just slide right on by if this isn't your cup of tea. All mistakes are mine. These people, obviously, aren't.
Nobody would ever suspect such a thing, but way back when, in the very beginning, it was the two of them.
Candice is in-between boyfriends. Ian and Meghan are on a break (and he hadn’t been introduced to Nina yet, hadn’t yet been drawn in by the wit and charm and honest-to-god goodness Nina’s presence emits at every turn) and they are on the same flight connecting LA to Atlanta.
She is still searching for her big break, for a slight turn in luck and is stuck in coach. Ian is just looking for a project he can believe in again, for a project that will create friendships and families and last for more than seventeen episodes. Of course, he’s already had a substantial break, he doesn’t need this show to work out, he just wants it to, so he sits comfortably in first class - away from screaming babies and arguments over whether or not it is appropriate to recline your seat.
They don’t meet at boarding in LA. They don’t meet on the plane. They don’t even meet at the luggage claim in Atlanta. Instead, they run in to each other in the hotel bar. Ian is already perched at the counter, already partially transformed into Damon with his tight jeans and leather jacket, and Candice recognizes him first, sliding into the seat next to him with all the ease and charm she possesses.
Ian’s smile is large, full of teeth, almost contagious in the way it spreads across his face. Candice just smiles and motions for the bartender to head her way.
“You’re,” Ian starts, drawing the word out as his eyes narrow as he searches for the correct name. Finally, he snaps his fingers in mid-air and points a finger in her direction. “Candice, right?”
She nods and orders her drink. The bar is nearly empty. In the corner there is a man gliding his fingers over the keys of a piano and Candice recognizes the gentle melody, even searches her brain to try to find the lyrics, but can’t find them. Instead, she turns towards Ian, her glass of wine held primly between her fingers. “You ready for all of this?”
Ian takes a swig of his beer. “For all of what?”
“People seem to think this is going to be kind of a big deal.”
“I’ve learned that the way to succeed is to just nod and smile. The rest will come as it comes.”
She narrows her eyes. “What are you, like, fifty, oh, wise one? Or do you just always speak in proverbs?”
He laughs. The sound is low, throaty, and she can’t help that part of her that reacts to the sound of it. She actually quite likes the way the warmth digs under her skin and seeps into her blood, warming everything in its path. He’s an attractive guy. Candice likes attractive guys.
“No. I’ve just been… around the block a few times.”
Drawing an index finger over the rim of her glass, she chuckles. “I can imagine.”
They play the game and they play it well. They flirt, tease, act like the old friends they might just be one day. Candice likes to flirt, she likes the push and pull and the give and take of the game. The excitement of not knowing what the end result might be. Mostly, she just likes the experience, the innocence of it all. The way it feels when you lean and touch your fingertips to their forearm that very first time. The smile that tugs at the corners of the other person’s mouth as a result. To Candice it is a game - a highly complicated, skilled game. It is a game she happens to be very good at.
And Ian, well, Ian just likes the attention.
(It’s a widely known fact that Ian has always had an affinity for blondes - even though future circumstances might contradict it.)
__
By the time they make it to the elevator doors, they’ve had a few too many. They know nothing about each other still, but Ian leans his shoulder against the wall as Candice pushes the button to call the elevator. His smile is small, but there, his body leaning almost entirely into hers. She smiles knowingly to herself. Presses the button again.
“What floor are you on?” Ian asks. She can smell beer and pretzels on his breath, the soft scent of his aftershave.
“Fifth, you?”
He makes a face. “Seventh.”
“Pity,” she punctuates the word with a smack of her lips. He smiles again. So does she. The elevator doors slide open and Candice enters first, Ian closely behind. She knows where this is going and she doesn’t mind it one bit, but she isn’t willing to make the move, to lean in and whisper you want to come up? She wants him to do it, wants him to take that leap, so she still pushes the button for her floor and rocks back on her heels.
She isn’t that easy.
Apparently, he isn’t either. He leans forward and past her, his fingers brushing her arm as he reaches to push the number seven on the panel. For a while they just stand there in silence. Candice shifts her weight from left to right and Ian hums along with the muzak. They don’t talk to each other, but she lifts her eyes just in time to see him watching her in the reflection of the steel doors. She smiles again - wide, perfect, and beautifully. Candice has a great smile. Everyone tells her this and as she watches the numbers climb, she thinks, just maybe, this will be the one exception to the rule, that he isn’t going to make the move she wants him to.
But then he does.
The elevator door slides open and she’s about to walk off of it, to let it all go, when he grabs her hand, his fingers soft around her wrist. “You want to come up with me?” he asks. His voice is like gravel, thick with beer and the tequila shot they did before she’d said enough was enough.
Candice laughs and the elevator doors slide closed. She meets his eyes head on through the steel.
“I thought you would never ask.”
__
In his hotel room he tastes like salt from the tequila and pretzels. He pushes her up against the door, angles his hips towards hers and kisses her with a deep intensity she will soon find out he applies to just about everything in his life. He kisses her hard and deep, his tongue sliding over hers with precision and want and her toes start to curl right then and there.
“This is probably a very bad idea,” she says, gasping for a breath when he tears his mouth away from hers and settles it on the smooth skin of her neck.
It’s the truth, but her body, her actions say she doesn’t really care. His hands grip the skin of her thighs and linger there, his touch is warm, his fingers dancing along her skin like magic and she squirms against him, pushes her hips forward until they are flush against his.
Ian laughs, the movement shaking his shoulders, his entire body. She can feel it deep in her bones and his hands start to move slowly, pushing the fabric of her dress up, up, up, until his fingers find home in-between her legs. In the morning, Candice will sneak out before the sun creeps along the horizon. In the morning this will become one of those things - those stories you keep to yourself, but remember fondly during lonely, sleepless nights. But now, right now, she gives herself over to the moment, to the way his magnificent, skilled fingers move against her.
“You really care about that right now?” he asks huskily, and she’s about to answer, offer up some sort of smartass retort, but he starts to tease her at the exact moment she parts her lips to speak. His fingers trail up and down, up and down, closely following the line of cotton at her inner thighs. His movements elicit goosebumps to rise in their wake and she sighs, the breath leaving her in a soft woosh of air when his fingers finally dip underneath the fabric and make contact.
“Yeah,” he says, angling his mouth towards hers again. He slips his fingers inside, first one, then two, and she groans, the sound low and guttural. “That’s what I thought.”
Candice can feel his grin spread smugly against her mouth when he kisses her again. She doesn’t mind one bit.