[fic] Bright Sky At Night
Title: Bright Sky At Night
Series: The Women Who Have Loved Damon Salvatore
Author: badboy_fangirl
Characters/Pairings: Original Character POV; Damon/Original Character
Word Count: ~2900
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 (sexy_tiems) / pre-series
Spoilers: None
Summary: There were a bunch of young bucks in the saloon that evening, whooping every other minute about going to War, and the Cause, and Jefferson Davis.
Author's notes: This is because of shipperjunkie's prompt from the Damon Salvatore Ficathon: Damon, five women who have loved him over 170 years. I was honestly going to finish Gravity Hurts before writing this, but then upupa_epops reminded me that Katie's birthday was coming up, so then I got this wild hare that I had to write this for her birthday. And then it went completely out of my control, because the first part was supposed to be about Damon's mother (stay tuned), but it wanted to be short and sweet and the second part became this? Like, out of my control and so I just succumbed to Marta's suggestion to write a series of one-shots. With the exception of Damon's mother, I won't reveal who the other ladies will be. That will be the birthday surprise, I guess? Because now it's going to be like a week-long b-day celebration. So let's get this party started!
Clara Jones, 1861
There were a bunch of young bucks in the saloon that evening, whooping every other minute about going to War, and the Cause, and Jefferson Davis.
Clara couldn't help but roll her eyes.
They had no idea what they were going to, and that most of them wouldn't come back. She and the other girls exchanged looks, knowing they all would make a fair wage this evening as delusions of grandeur loaded them all up and brought them up the stairs for an hour of pleasure.
The one who caught her attention, dark haired and light eyed, his cheeks rosy from drink, was the one who hung back, who didn't seem as eager as the others, either for War or for Ladies of the Night.
"I'll take that one," she murmured to one of the other girls as she passed her, grabbing a fresh glass of whiskey as an offering.
Sliding her arm around his neck, she leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Parched, good sir?" He shuddered just a touch and took the glass proffered to him.
"Thank you," he said politely as she sat herself down in his lap. There was no telltale hardness beneath his gray uniform, and as she looked into his eyes, she wondered if he was a bit of a nancy. His eyes were clear, and she became suddenly aware that his cheeks just had a natural rosiness, it wasn't because he'd had too much to drink.
"Name's Clementine," she whispered, taking the glass back from him to sip at it herself, when he didn't. She never used her real name, as it was the most boring sounding thing in the world. "What's yours?"
"D-Damon," he stuttered, and she felt a bit sorry for him. Not a nancy, perhaps, just a proper gentleman who didn't know his way around women? With his pretty, pretty eyes, he could probably get anything he wanted, so he must not have wanted much yet. And now he'd go off to war and never even figure out what he wanted, much less get it.
"You lookin' for a good time before you go bravely off to war?" she asked, smiling a little, teasing him just a tad.
He nodded his head awkwardly and looked around, obviously catching the eye of one of the friends that he'd come in with. "You got some money, rich boy?" she asked, and that's when something flared in the depths of his eyes. His gaze jerked back to hers and he tensed beneath her.
"I certainly do," he announced primly and Clara laughed into the bottom of the whiskey glass.
She set the empty tumbler down on the table behind her and then leaned close, whispering her mouth over his. When she let her tongue trace his full bottom lip, his eyes widened in surprise and then she felt the first stirrings, even through her petticoat and skirt. He wasn't immovable, this boy, even if he was not as willing as his mates, most of whom had already gone up the stairs with one of her girls.
Clara stood, took his hand, tilting her head in invitation. Damon hesitated, his eyes still wide, either with fear or surprise, or a combination of both. She gave his arm a tug and he got to his feet, allowing her to lead him upstairs to her room.
At the door, she turned into him and gave him another kiss, this one slightly more aggressive. She dipped her tongue into his mouth and he took a small, shocked breath that made her giggle. Then she boldly cupped her hand over his male part and his eyes rolled back in his head. "There we go," she said, giving him a firm stroke that brought him to full attention. "Show me your money, honey," she commanded.
Damon quickly showed her what he had, and it was more than she'd made all week long, but she didn't tell him that. Instead, she opened the door and took him inside. His eyes darted around nervously as she closed the door behind them, but she stepped close again, pressing herself against him to kiss him some more. She could tell he was one of those who thought too much, so she took it upon herself to wipe all thought from his mind. She felt his hands clutch at her waist, and she knew she'd accomplished her goal.
She led him easily to her bed, and pushed him down on it. He wasn't a bad kisser himself, though she rarely kissed her customers. He seemed like he needed it, though, and his mouth was pleasant enough. He was eager, a bit sloppy, but it wasn't stomach-turning the way some of them were. She would actually be able to keep her eyes open with this one, not just retreat into her mind until he finished his business. Besides all that, he kept touching her face, his fingertips gentle and soothing against her cheeks.
When she sat up and started to undress, his vivid eyes watched with a new mixture of fear and lust, and she smiled inwardly. He had to be a virgin, and it was odd, because he was a bit older. As her breasts came into view, he touched her again, and it struck her that the tone of his hands was reverent. He might be just another in a long line to her, but she was all new and shiny to him.
He was trembling by the time he cupped a palm over her, and her body responded in a way it hadn't in a long, long time. She reached for him, slipping a hand behind his head to guide him to her, to show him what to do. "Give me a little kiss, there," she instructed, her nipple hard and pointed, stretching out to his lips.
He licked her, and she gasped, which he liked because he made a sound in his throat, and then instinct must have taken over, because he didn't kiss her at all. He consumed her, his mouth opening wide and his tongue carrying the aching tip of her breast to the roof of his mouth for a hard suckle. She bucked and moaned, and when a cry tore from her throat, he quickly lifted his head to pant, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."
She pushed him back and climbed on top of him, shushing him with more kisses. She wasn't going to explain to him that it was a good kind of sound; he was going to have to figure that out for himself. She pulled his shirt open and found his nipple, teasing it with her tongue and teeth. He groaned against her, and she thought maybe he got the message, but she quickly moved on, sliding down to undo his trousers.
His shaft was large, and as eager as he had once been reticent, springing into her hands as she lowered his underwear. She laved the head with her tongue and his strangled "Umph," let her know that that was almost more than he could take. One of his hands plunged into her hair in a desperate hold, and then he was saying her name, "Clementine, Clementine...Clementine," and she realized he was tugging her back. "Please...oh, Mary, Mother of God. Please, please, stop," he said, his hands pulling her up and away from his crotch.
"What's the matter, darlin'?" she drawled, staring into his wide eyes.
"I didn't...I wasn't pl-" he started and stopped and his eyes snapped close. Drawing a deep breath, she could tell that he was trying to control himself, which was...the strangest thing that had ever happened to her. She'd been in this line of work for more than fifteen years, and it wasn't like he was her first virgin, but she'd never seen anything like him, that much she knew. When his eyes opened again, the resolve across his face was another completely foreign element in a whorehouse of all places. "I don't want to do this," he finally uttered.
Since her fingers were still around his shaft, she gave him a squeeze. "I beg to differ, good sir," she said, teasing in her voice again. "This means you do want to do it. Are you unfamiliar with what this is?" She stroked him once more to emphasize her meaning.
He shook his head and then reached down to gently remove her hand. "It is nothing against you, Clementine. You are beautiful, and very...um, very-I sort of lost my head because you're so...good, at, this?" He seemed unsure of what to call it-she imagined him blushing fiercely as he muttered marriage relations under his breath-but he maintained eye contact so she just smiled and stayed sitting on top of him.
"Damon," she said, placing her hands upon his bare chest. "Are you saving yourself for marriage and you just didn't know how to tell your friends that?"
He gave a jerky nod, and then he did blush, his already softly pink cheeks flaming up quite charmingly.
Clara felt her long cold heart crack wide open. Oh, the folly of youth. So many plans. Never any idea of what life would actually hand them. She closed her eyes, imagined him as a nervous bridegroom, his eyes soft with love and desire that went far beyond the curve a woman's breast or her damp breath in his ear.
She moved off him, propping herself up on an elbow to lie quietly at his side. "I'll still pay you," he said, his voice almost shameful.
"'Course you will. You want to me to holler or something? Convince your friends that you lit up my sky all bright-like?"
He laughed lowly. "No, thank you. That's not necessary."
"You might as well get your money's worth, even if it's fake," she said, smiling at him again. There was something about him, and she just sort of adored him. He hadn't tried to charm her. He hadn't been disgusting in any of the ways most of the men who came through her door were. He'd just lost his head a little, but not his conscience. When he shook his head again, she pronounced, "You're a strange one, Damon. Very, very odd."
He fastened his pants closed again and sat up slowly. "You think so?" Digging around in his pocket, he pulled out the money he intended to pay her with and handed it to her with a sheepish expression. She took it without comment, just studying his beautiful face.
He was strange, and fascinating, and creating something inside her she hadn't felt since she was a young girl with delusions of her own. He began buttoning his shirt again when she tossed the money on her bedside table and reached to stop his fingers. "Listen, honey. It's all well and good that you want to remain ...pure for your future wife. But what if you don't come back from the War? I know it seems like glory and honor now, but it's men killing each other, end of story. You really want to die without, having... you know. The love of a woman?"
He turned his hand so that it was holding hers, and his eyes examined their intertwining fingers intently. He hesitated, but finally answered with, "Of course I know I might die. Sometimes I think my father is sending me there for that very purpose, so I'll have done something that he can boast about." He looked at her then. "But the love of a woman? That's not what this is. You don't love me."
Oh, but I could, she thought, the idea so immediate, Clara had to bite her lip not to blurt it out. "How old are you, darlin'?" she asked.
"Twenty one," he replied.
"Well, I'm almost 32, so let me teach you a little something, okay?" She sat up so that their faces were level and she leaned into him to give him a sweet, brief kiss. "There are different kinds of love. And right now, you have mine. And I understand if you want to...wait, but it would be a great honor for me, if you'd let me love you a little. There are lots of things we can do, that don't involve you being inside me, if you don't want. And it would still bring you a lot of pleasure, and it would make me happy to do that for you. Because you're a sweet boy."
His eyes dilated, and she knew she had him, because regardless of his noble intentions, he was sitting there with a condition that only one thing could cure. "You mean...your mouth?" he asked, swallowing hard as his gaze dropped to her lips.
Desire swamped her, and the need she had for this boy suddenly felt as real and desperate as actual love had made her feel before she gave up on all that, back before her ma and pa died of influenza and she was left to fend for herself in the only way she could find.
"Yes," she whispered, dropping her voice seductively. "I can lick you and suck you and it will make you go crazy. It'll feel so good, baby. And you'll have a warm, sweet memory to take with you into battle."
Damon's tongue darted out to moisten his lips and she kissed him again, until his tongue danced with hers. He was a quick study for sure, already kissing better than he had when they first came through the door. As he pulled back, he asked in a painfully shy voice, "What about you?"
She blinked. "What about me?" she asked.
"Doesn't it make you...feel, you know..." He threw up one hand in a helpless gesture. "Crazy, too? How can I make you feel good?"
Clara closed her eyes so he couldn't see the tears that had suddenly pricked them. All she knew in that moment was that she would never forget Damon, and she was certain she loved him with all that was left of her heart. "I'll show you how to do that, too," she breathed against his lips, pulling him close again.
By the time he spilled himself in her mouth, they were both fully naked, and his skin was flushed from head to toe. He shuddered beneath her, crying her name in a way that made her wish she had told him her real one.
She lay down next to him, waiting for him to catch his breath. When his eyes opened and he turned his head to look at her, he looked as in love as any man ever could. It was an expression she was plenty familiar with, but on Damon's face, it was as new and sincere as anything could be. "Show me," he said simply and she brought his hand between her legs.
He kissed her mouth or her throat or her breasts the entire time his fingers stroked her. She let him take his time, let him stretch it out, because when it was over, she knew it would never be like this again for her. He lost his inhibitions somewhere in there because he kept telling her how beautiful she was and how much he enjoyed touching her. When she finally showed him how to pinch her clitoris and she let go, the awe in his face almost made her laugh. With him, everything was new, everything was beautiful, and she never wanted it to end.
Especially, she did not want him to go to war and never come home again.
As the sweat cooled on their bodies, Damon sat up and reached for his pants. "I should probably get going," he said uncertainly.
It was a hour of her time, that's what he'd paid for. That's what he'd given her more money than she'd made all week for, with no hesitation. He hadn't even asked for a rate, he'd just given her the wad of bills in his pocket, and now they sat on the table, practically accusing her. She should give it back, because it hadn't been work at all; it had been more pleasure than she knew what to do with.
"Why don't you stay?" she found herself asking, and Damon's eyes came around to hers in shock. He might not be very experienced in some areas, but he knew how this worked. Clara didn't care. "Stay all night," she invited. "For free," she added when his gaze drifted to the stack of money. "Stay, because I want you to," she said softly.
Nobody would believe that they mostly laid there talking about books (ones he'd read, some she had too, others that he insisted she get her hands on, somehow), so she never told anyone about it.
Just before dawn, as she was teaching him how to please her with his mouth, she shared her real name with him.
Looking up at her from between her legs, Damon smiled. He said, "Thank you," and then proceeded to make her holler like he lit up her sky.
(Which he absolutely did.)
Disclaimer: I felt I should put a little addendum on this piece only because prostitution is a sensitive subject to begin with, and the morality herein is, IMHO, stretched quite far. Clara's cajoling Damon into fooling around, but not having intercourse with her, is not, in my book, him remaining pure. Sex is sex, regardless of how it's done. For the record. ;-)
Series: The Women Who Have Loved Damon Salvatore
Author: badboy_fangirl
Characters/Pairings: Original Character POV; Damon/Original Character
Word Count: ~2900
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 (sexy_tiems) / pre-series
Spoilers: None
Summary: There were a bunch of young bucks in the saloon that evening, whooping every other minute about going to War, and the Cause, and Jefferson Davis.
Author's notes: This is because of shipperjunkie's prompt from the Damon Salvatore Ficathon: Damon, five women who have loved him over 170 years. I was honestly going to finish Gravity Hurts before writing this, but then upupa_epops reminded me that Katie's birthday was coming up, so then I got this wild hare that I had to write this for her birthday. And then it went completely out of my control, because the first part was supposed to be about Damon's mother (stay tuned), but it wanted to be short and sweet and the second part became this? Like, out of my control and so I just succumbed to Marta's suggestion to write a series of one-shots. With the exception of Damon's mother, I won't reveal who the other ladies will be. That will be the birthday surprise, I guess? Because now it's going to be like a week-long b-day celebration. So let's get this party started!
Clara Jones, 1861
There were a bunch of young bucks in the saloon that evening, whooping every other minute about going to War, and the Cause, and Jefferson Davis.
Clara couldn't help but roll her eyes.
They had no idea what they were going to, and that most of them wouldn't come back. She and the other girls exchanged looks, knowing they all would make a fair wage this evening as delusions of grandeur loaded them all up and brought them up the stairs for an hour of pleasure.
The one who caught her attention, dark haired and light eyed, his cheeks rosy from drink, was the one who hung back, who didn't seem as eager as the others, either for War or for Ladies of the Night.
"I'll take that one," she murmured to one of the other girls as she passed her, grabbing a fresh glass of whiskey as an offering.
Sliding her arm around his neck, she leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Parched, good sir?" He shuddered just a touch and took the glass proffered to him.
"Thank you," he said politely as she sat herself down in his lap. There was no telltale hardness beneath his gray uniform, and as she looked into his eyes, she wondered if he was a bit of a nancy. His eyes were clear, and she became suddenly aware that his cheeks just had a natural rosiness, it wasn't because he'd had too much to drink.
"Name's Clementine," she whispered, taking the glass back from him to sip at it herself, when he didn't. She never used her real name, as it was the most boring sounding thing in the world. "What's yours?"
"D-Damon," he stuttered, and she felt a bit sorry for him. Not a nancy, perhaps, just a proper gentleman who didn't know his way around women? With his pretty, pretty eyes, he could probably get anything he wanted, so he must not have wanted much yet. And now he'd go off to war and never even figure out what he wanted, much less get it.
"You lookin' for a good time before you go bravely off to war?" she asked, smiling a little, teasing him just a tad.
He nodded his head awkwardly and looked around, obviously catching the eye of one of the friends that he'd come in with. "You got some money, rich boy?" she asked, and that's when something flared in the depths of his eyes. His gaze jerked back to hers and he tensed beneath her.
"I certainly do," he announced primly and Clara laughed into the bottom of the whiskey glass.
She set the empty tumbler down on the table behind her and then leaned close, whispering her mouth over his. When she let her tongue trace his full bottom lip, his eyes widened in surprise and then she felt the first stirrings, even through her petticoat and skirt. He wasn't immovable, this boy, even if he was not as willing as his mates, most of whom had already gone up the stairs with one of her girls.
Clara stood, took his hand, tilting her head in invitation. Damon hesitated, his eyes still wide, either with fear or surprise, or a combination of both. She gave his arm a tug and he got to his feet, allowing her to lead him upstairs to her room.
At the door, she turned into him and gave him another kiss, this one slightly more aggressive. She dipped her tongue into his mouth and he took a small, shocked breath that made her giggle. Then she boldly cupped her hand over his male part and his eyes rolled back in his head. "There we go," she said, giving him a firm stroke that brought him to full attention. "Show me your money, honey," she commanded.
Damon quickly showed her what he had, and it was more than she'd made all week long, but she didn't tell him that. Instead, she opened the door and took him inside. His eyes darted around nervously as she closed the door behind them, but she stepped close again, pressing herself against him to kiss him some more. She could tell he was one of those who thought too much, so she took it upon herself to wipe all thought from his mind. She felt his hands clutch at her waist, and she knew she'd accomplished her goal.
She led him easily to her bed, and pushed him down on it. He wasn't a bad kisser himself, though she rarely kissed her customers. He seemed like he needed it, though, and his mouth was pleasant enough. He was eager, a bit sloppy, but it wasn't stomach-turning the way some of them were. She would actually be able to keep her eyes open with this one, not just retreat into her mind until he finished his business. Besides all that, he kept touching her face, his fingertips gentle and soothing against her cheeks.
When she sat up and started to undress, his vivid eyes watched with a new mixture of fear and lust, and she smiled inwardly. He had to be a virgin, and it was odd, because he was a bit older. As her breasts came into view, he touched her again, and it struck her that the tone of his hands was reverent. He might be just another in a long line to her, but she was all new and shiny to him.
He was trembling by the time he cupped a palm over her, and her body responded in a way it hadn't in a long, long time. She reached for him, slipping a hand behind his head to guide him to her, to show him what to do. "Give me a little kiss, there," she instructed, her nipple hard and pointed, stretching out to his lips.
He licked her, and she gasped, which he liked because he made a sound in his throat, and then instinct must have taken over, because he didn't kiss her at all. He consumed her, his mouth opening wide and his tongue carrying the aching tip of her breast to the roof of his mouth for a hard suckle. She bucked and moaned, and when a cry tore from her throat, he quickly lifted his head to pant, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."
She pushed him back and climbed on top of him, shushing him with more kisses. She wasn't going to explain to him that it was a good kind of sound; he was going to have to figure that out for himself. She pulled his shirt open and found his nipple, teasing it with her tongue and teeth. He groaned against her, and she thought maybe he got the message, but she quickly moved on, sliding down to undo his trousers.
His shaft was large, and as eager as he had once been reticent, springing into her hands as she lowered his underwear. She laved the head with her tongue and his strangled "Umph," let her know that that was almost more than he could take. One of his hands plunged into her hair in a desperate hold, and then he was saying her name, "Clementine, Clementine...Clementine," and she realized he was tugging her back. "Please...oh, Mary, Mother of God. Please, please, stop," he said, his hands pulling her up and away from his crotch.
"What's the matter, darlin'?" she drawled, staring into his wide eyes.
"I didn't...I wasn't pl-" he started and stopped and his eyes snapped close. Drawing a deep breath, she could tell that he was trying to control himself, which was...the strangest thing that had ever happened to her. She'd been in this line of work for more than fifteen years, and it wasn't like he was her first virgin, but she'd never seen anything like him, that much she knew. When his eyes opened again, the resolve across his face was another completely foreign element in a whorehouse of all places. "I don't want to do this," he finally uttered.
Since her fingers were still around his shaft, she gave him a squeeze. "I beg to differ, good sir," she said, teasing in her voice again. "This means you do want to do it. Are you unfamiliar with what this is?" She stroked him once more to emphasize her meaning.
He shook his head and then reached down to gently remove her hand. "It is nothing against you, Clementine. You are beautiful, and very...um, very-I sort of lost my head because you're so...good, at, this?" He seemed unsure of what to call it-she imagined him blushing fiercely as he muttered marriage relations under his breath-but he maintained eye contact so she just smiled and stayed sitting on top of him.
"Damon," she said, placing her hands upon his bare chest. "Are you saving yourself for marriage and you just didn't know how to tell your friends that?"
He gave a jerky nod, and then he did blush, his already softly pink cheeks flaming up quite charmingly.
Clara felt her long cold heart crack wide open. Oh, the folly of youth. So many plans. Never any idea of what life would actually hand them. She closed her eyes, imagined him as a nervous bridegroom, his eyes soft with love and desire that went far beyond the curve a woman's breast or her damp breath in his ear.
She moved off him, propping herself up on an elbow to lie quietly at his side. "I'll still pay you," he said, his voice almost shameful.
"'Course you will. You want to me to holler or something? Convince your friends that you lit up my sky all bright-like?"
He laughed lowly. "No, thank you. That's not necessary."
"You might as well get your money's worth, even if it's fake," she said, smiling at him again. There was something about him, and she just sort of adored him. He hadn't tried to charm her. He hadn't been disgusting in any of the ways most of the men who came through her door were. He'd just lost his head a little, but not his conscience. When he shook his head again, she pronounced, "You're a strange one, Damon. Very, very odd."
He fastened his pants closed again and sat up slowly. "You think so?" Digging around in his pocket, he pulled out the money he intended to pay her with and handed it to her with a sheepish expression. She took it without comment, just studying his beautiful face.
He was strange, and fascinating, and creating something inside her she hadn't felt since she was a young girl with delusions of her own. He began buttoning his shirt again when she tossed the money on her bedside table and reached to stop his fingers. "Listen, honey. It's all well and good that you want to remain ...pure for your future wife. But what if you don't come back from the War? I know it seems like glory and honor now, but it's men killing each other, end of story. You really want to die without, having... you know. The love of a woman?"
He turned his hand so that it was holding hers, and his eyes examined their intertwining fingers intently. He hesitated, but finally answered with, "Of course I know I might die. Sometimes I think my father is sending me there for that very purpose, so I'll have done something that he can boast about." He looked at her then. "But the love of a woman? That's not what this is. You don't love me."
Oh, but I could, she thought, the idea so immediate, Clara had to bite her lip not to blurt it out. "How old are you, darlin'?" she asked.
"Twenty one," he replied.
"Well, I'm almost 32, so let me teach you a little something, okay?" She sat up so that their faces were level and she leaned into him to give him a sweet, brief kiss. "There are different kinds of love. And right now, you have mine. And I understand if you want to...wait, but it would be a great honor for me, if you'd let me love you a little. There are lots of things we can do, that don't involve you being inside me, if you don't want. And it would still bring you a lot of pleasure, and it would make me happy to do that for you. Because you're a sweet boy."
His eyes dilated, and she knew she had him, because regardless of his noble intentions, he was sitting there with a condition that only one thing could cure. "You mean...your mouth?" he asked, swallowing hard as his gaze dropped to her lips.
Desire swamped her, and the need she had for this boy suddenly felt as real and desperate as actual love had made her feel before she gave up on all that, back before her ma and pa died of influenza and she was left to fend for herself in the only way she could find.
"Yes," she whispered, dropping her voice seductively. "I can lick you and suck you and it will make you go crazy. It'll feel so good, baby. And you'll have a warm, sweet memory to take with you into battle."
Damon's tongue darted out to moisten his lips and she kissed him again, until his tongue danced with hers. He was a quick study for sure, already kissing better than he had when they first came through the door. As he pulled back, he asked in a painfully shy voice, "What about you?"
She blinked. "What about me?" she asked.
"Doesn't it make you...feel, you know..." He threw up one hand in a helpless gesture. "Crazy, too? How can I make you feel good?"
Clara closed her eyes so he couldn't see the tears that had suddenly pricked them. All she knew in that moment was that she would never forget Damon, and she was certain she loved him with all that was left of her heart. "I'll show you how to do that, too," she breathed against his lips, pulling him close again.
By the time he spilled himself in her mouth, they were both fully naked, and his skin was flushed from head to toe. He shuddered beneath her, crying her name in a way that made her wish she had told him her real one.
She lay down next to him, waiting for him to catch his breath. When his eyes opened and he turned his head to look at her, he looked as in love as any man ever could. It was an expression she was plenty familiar with, but on Damon's face, it was as new and sincere as anything could be. "Show me," he said simply and she brought his hand between her legs.
He kissed her mouth or her throat or her breasts the entire time his fingers stroked her. She let him take his time, let him stretch it out, because when it was over, she knew it would never be like this again for her. He lost his inhibitions somewhere in there because he kept telling her how beautiful she was and how much he enjoyed touching her. When she finally showed him how to pinch her clitoris and she let go, the awe in his face almost made her laugh. With him, everything was new, everything was beautiful, and she never wanted it to end.
Especially, she did not want him to go to war and never come home again.
As the sweat cooled on their bodies, Damon sat up and reached for his pants. "I should probably get going," he said uncertainly.
It was a hour of her time, that's what he'd paid for. That's what he'd given her more money than she'd made all week for, with no hesitation. He hadn't even asked for a rate, he'd just given her the wad of bills in his pocket, and now they sat on the table, practically accusing her. She should give it back, because it hadn't been work at all; it had been more pleasure than she knew what to do with.
"Why don't you stay?" she found herself asking, and Damon's eyes came around to hers in shock. He might not be very experienced in some areas, but he knew how this worked. Clara didn't care. "Stay all night," she invited. "For free," she added when his gaze drifted to the stack of money. "Stay, because I want you to," she said softly.
Nobody would believe that they mostly laid there talking about books (ones he'd read, some she had too, others that he insisted she get her hands on, somehow), so she never told anyone about it.
Just before dawn, as she was teaching him how to please her with his mouth, she shared her real name with him.
Looking up at her from between her legs, Damon smiled. He said, "Thank you," and then proceeded to make her holler like he lit up her sky.
(Which he absolutely did.)
Disclaimer: I felt I should put a little addendum on this piece only because prostitution is a sensitive subject to begin with, and the morality herein is, IMHO, stretched quite far. Clara's cajoling Damon into fooling around, but not having intercourse with her, is not, in my book, him remaining pure. Sex is sex, regardless of how it's done. For the record. ;-)