[fic] Remembering
Title: Remembering
Author: badboy_fangirl
Characters/Pairings: Damon POV; Damon/Elena
Word Count: ~600
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 (post-switch flipping sex)
Spoilers: Everything through 4x15.
Summary: Damon remembers when he was good at pretending he felt nothing.
Author's notes: This is an unauthorized companion piece to Forgetting by upupa_epops.
Damon remembers when he was good at pretending he felt nothing. He remembers a time when he just didn't care. It wasn't that he couldn't care; it was just the only thing he cared about for a long, long time was Katherine and rescuing her and everything else had faded into insignificance. Stefan, for one.
(For two. For three.)
When Elena comes at him, he can see it in her eyes, and the reasons for all of this is the sort of punishment the sire bond never could be. Not knowing if Elena really cared for him pales in comparison to her wanting him with absolutely no emotion.
Need that might not be as great as his was one thing; being used heartlessly is entirely different.
(For one thing, it's not Stefan's bedroom floor that's getting a nice waxing.)
He's always been powerless when it comes to Elena. She took him by surprise from the very beginning, and this isn't substantially more or less than that. Because fear and anger can always mix into lust. Blood pumping hotly to various places makes Elena's face change, and a split second before her fangs pierce his skin, he sees her intent. It works for a few seconds; pleasure replaces everything else as she drinks from him.
Too quickly, he remembers, though. How he had thought about this, how he let himself dream for that small window of time of an eternity with Elena just like this.
Only, not like this. She would take his blood because she loved him, because she wanted all of him, because she would offer her blood in return. But here, there is none of that.
Here, he's paralyzed, and it's Elena who impales herself, and it's Elena who changes their positions, who puts herself in the vulnerable place beneath him even while she controls the whole thing.
That's when his recollection starts to help the situation a little bit. He remembers how the harder he went, the easier it was to forget those things that might've held him back. So, Elena becomes like the road he threw himself down, the one that held absolution at the end of it, a tomb that wouldn't be empty, a vampire who would be nothing but grateful when she saw his face.
He shoves himself inside her, over and over, harder than he ever would have before, even knowing she's his equal now in strength. He chases it, any sound blocked out with the roaring in his head that might be blood, or just chaotic noise that might mean he's gone over the edge for real this time, and switch flipping is his only available option, too. He knows he'll never get there, thinks Elena won't, either, but then her hand slides between them, and he realizes she doesn't need him, not really.
She doesn't feel anything, but she still knows everything.
He comes inexplicably, a sob tearing from his throat.
(Loss is the ultimate aphrodisiac.)
His arms tremble violently as he holds himself over her, but he pulls out roughly, rolling away before she even finishes entirely. He bites his lip until he tastes blood. Oddly, Elena's hand smooths over the quickly healing wound at his neck.
It's not until her fingers graze his cheek that he realizes he's crying.
(His only true action is to grab her hand and fling it away.)
(He grips it until bones snap instead.)
(Elena laughs.)
Author: badboy_fangirl
Characters/Pairings: Damon POV; Damon/Elena
Word Count: ~600
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 (post-switch flipping sex)
Spoilers: Everything through 4x15.
Summary: Damon remembers when he was good at pretending he felt nothing.
Author's notes: This is an unauthorized companion piece to Forgetting by upupa_epops.
Damon remembers when he was good at pretending he felt nothing. He remembers a time when he just didn't care. It wasn't that he couldn't care; it was just the only thing he cared about for a long, long time was Katherine and rescuing her and everything else had faded into insignificance. Stefan, for one.
(For two. For three.)
When Elena comes at him, he can see it in her eyes, and the reasons for all of this is the sort of punishment the sire bond never could be. Not knowing if Elena really cared for him pales in comparison to her wanting him with absolutely no emotion.
Need that might not be as great as his was one thing; being used heartlessly is entirely different.
(For one thing, it's not Stefan's bedroom floor that's getting a nice waxing.)
He's always been powerless when it comes to Elena. She took him by surprise from the very beginning, and this isn't substantially more or less than that. Because fear and anger can always mix into lust. Blood pumping hotly to various places makes Elena's face change, and a split second before her fangs pierce his skin, he sees her intent. It works for a few seconds; pleasure replaces everything else as she drinks from him.
Too quickly, he remembers, though. How he had thought about this, how he let himself dream for that small window of time of an eternity with Elena just like this.
Only, not like this. She would take his blood because she loved him, because she wanted all of him, because she would offer her blood in return. But here, there is none of that.
Here, he's paralyzed, and it's Elena who impales herself, and it's Elena who changes their positions, who puts herself in the vulnerable place beneath him even while she controls the whole thing.
That's when his recollection starts to help the situation a little bit. He remembers how the harder he went, the easier it was to forget those things that might've held him back. So, Elena becomes like the road he threw himself down, the one that held absolution at the end of it, a tomb that wouldn't be empty, a vampire who would be nothing but grateful when she saw his face.
He shoves himself inside her, over and over, harder than he ever would have before, even knowing she's his equal now in strength. He chases it, any sound blocked out with the roaring in his head that might be blood, or just chaotic noise that might mean he's gone over the edge for real this time, and switch flipping is his only available option, too. He knows he'll never get there, thinks Elena won't, either, but then her hand slides between them, and he realizes she doesn't need him, not really.
She doesn't feel anything, but she still knows everything.
He comes inexplicably, a sob tearing from his throat.
(Loss is the ultimate aphrodisiac.)
His arms tremble violently as he holds himself over her, but he pulls out roughly, rolling away before she even finishes entirely. He bites his lip until he tastes blood. Oddly, Elena's hand smooths over the quickly healing wound at his neck.
It's not until her fingers graze his cheek that he realizes he's crying.
(His only true action is to grab her hand and fling it away.)
(He grips it until bones snap instead.)
(Elena laughs.)