[fic] Epoch
Title: Epoch
Author: badboy_fangirl
Characters/Pairings: Damon POV; Damon/Elena
Word Count: ~700
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 / 3x19 AU
Summary: From the prompt: Damon/Elena, Jeremy doesn't interrupt them in Denver.
Author's notes: Written for upupa_epops's Valentine's Day fic-a-thon.
It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream--making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that co-mingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which is of the very essence of dreams...No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence...
― Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
When he presses her up against the concrete pillar, he figures she'll put a stop to it. When he lets his lips travel downward, toward the open neck of her shirt, she pulls his face away from her breasts, and he knows, it's just a matter of time.
She'll push him away, she'll say, wait, this isn't right. She might even have the gall to say his brother's name, which will probably take the wind right out of his sails. He draws back for air, and gives her the chance. She looks at him, her eyes meet his fully, and then she pulls his mouth back to hers.
Her tongue glides into his mouth. (Any minute now, any minute...)
Her hands roam over his shoulders again, but then they slide down the front of him, finding the bare skin of his chest. Her nails skim over his nipples so that he's shuddering against her. (Okay, right now, now is when her palms will flatten out to push him back, and she'll say, we shouldn't do this...)
When her fingers hit the snap and zipper of his jeans, Damon surges against her, more blood pounding its way south until he jerks his head up and the words fall out of his mouth, "Elena, wait..."
"No," she murmurs, yanking his pants open, her mouth against his ear.
So, he tries again. When his lips slide over her collarbone this time, she thrusts her chest up into him, and her breast practically climbs into his mouth. He noses her tank top out of his way and when his tongue circles her ripe nipple, she moans his name so loudly, he worries about the other motel tenants.
Someone is bound to interrupt them. Good god, they are outside in freaking November, it's way too cold for this sort of thing, and yet it's Elena's hand that grabs his and drags it inside her yoga pants. When his fingers find her hot and wet, she keens something unintelligible that just communicates need like he's never known before.
Damon has known desire; he learned it at the knee of Katherine Pierce, but he's never known hunger like this. More than blood, more than bodily fluids greasing up parts for easy connection, more than just lying next to a woman and knowing she understands what he's saying. These are all the parts of Elena that he wants, that he needs, that he has no way of properly communicating.
So when she tugs his face away from her chest this time, squirming against him to get her pants and underwear down around her knees so she can make room for him, and when she looks into his eyes and says, "Now," he has no choice. This isn't about base desire, though he's sure Stefan will never believe that when the truth comes out. This is them, stripped down and honest, and this is him, inside Elena Gilbert, at her invitation--at her insistence, even.
Her hands slide into the back of his jeans, clutching him tightly to her as they move together. Her fingers grip, vice-like, and her nails score his skin, and it's all over so fast for both of them that he's panting heavily into her shoulder while she does the same against his jaw. They stay in just that position for an age, until Damon can hear, distantly, some people stirring within their rooms.
He eases himself away from her, leaning down to tug her clothing back up so she's decently covered. He can feel her eyes on him, but he can't seem to meet her gaze, which is ridiculous since, you know.
And...yet.
Her hands find his face, drawing his lips gently against hers. Then her mouth curves against his, and everything seems perfect.
So, he lets himself enjoy it while it lasts.
(She holds his hand as they walk back to their room.)
Author: badboy_fangirl
Characters/Pairings: Damon POV; Damon/Elena
Word Count: ~700
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 / 3x19 AU
Summary: From the prompt: Damon/Elena, Jeremy doesn't interrupt them in Denver.
Author's notes: Written for upupa_epops's Valentine's Day fic-a-thon.
It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream--making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that co-mingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which is of the very essence of dreams...No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence...
― Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
When he presses her up against the concrete pillar, he figures she'll put a stop to it. When he lets his lips travel downward, toward the open neck of her shirt, she pulls his face away from her breasts, and he knows, it's just a matter of time.
She'll push him away, she'll say, wait, this isn't right. She might even have the gall to say his brother's name, which will probably take the wind right out of his sails. He draws back for air, and gives her the chance. She looks at him, her eyes meet his fully, and then she pulls his mouth back to hers.
Her tongue glides into his mouth. (Any minute now, any minute...)
Her hands roam over his shoulders again, but then they slide down the front of him, finding the bare skin of his chest. Her nails skim over his nipples so that he's shuddering against her. (Okay, right now, now is when her palms will flatten out to push him back, and she'll say, we shouldn't do this...)
When her fingers hit the snap and zipper of his jeans, Damon surges against her, more blood pounding its way south until he jerks his head up and the words fall out of his mouth, "Elena, wait..."
"No," she murmurs, yanking his pants open, her mouth against his ear.
So, he tries again. When his lips slide over her collarbone this time, she thrusts her chest up into him, and her breast practically climbs into his mouth. He noses her tank top out of his way and when his tongue circles her ripe nipple, she moans his name so loudly, he worries about the other motel tenants.
Someone is bound to interrupt them. Good god, they are outside in freaking November, it's way too cold for this sort of thing, and yet it's Elena's hand that grabs his and drags it inside her yoga pants. When his fingers find her hot and wet, she keens something unintelligible that just communicates need like he's never known before.
Damon has known desire; he learned it at the knee of Katherine Pierce, but he's never known hunger like this. More than blood, more than bodily fluids greasing up parts for easy connection, more than just lying next to a woman and knowing she understands what he's saying. These are all the parts of Elena that he wants, that he needs, that he has no way of properly communicating.
So when she tugs his face away from her chest this time, squirming against him to get her pants and underwear down around her knees so she can make room for him, and when she looks into his eyes and says, "Now," he has no choice. This isn't about base desire, though he's sure Stefan will never believe that when the truth comes out. This is them, stripped down and honest, and this is him, inside Elena Gilbert, at her invitation--at her insistence, even.
Her hands slide into the back of his jeans, clutching him tightly to her as they move together. Her fingers grip, vice-like, and her nails score his skin, and it's all over so fast for both of them that he's panting heavily into her shoulder while she does the same against his jaw. They stay in just that position for an age, until Damon can hear, distantly, some people stirring within their rooms.
He eases himself away from her, leaning down to tug her clothing back up so she's decently covered. He can feel her eyes on him, but he can't seem to meet her gaze, which is ridiculous since, you know.
And...yet.
Her hands find his face, drawing his lips gently against hers. Then her mouth curves against his, and everything seems perfect.
So, he lets himself enjoy it while it lasts.
(She holds his hand as they walk back to their room.)