Blue Darkness Falling
Title: Blue Darkness Falling (1/1)
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Characters: Mason Lockwood, (Damon Salvatore)
Pairing: Mason/Katherine (implied)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 700
Disclaimer: Here
Summary: Fragmented thoughts and memories during the last moments of Mason Lockwood’s life. Set during and, on occasion, directly quoting from episode 2.06.
(He never got to surf Mavericks. With all the amped up werewolf strength? Man, he would’ve rocked it! It might just have made the curse worth bearing.
Once, he asked her,
“How about a road trip to Cali? Half Moon Bay?” Joked - okay, it was lame, but he felt like he could say anything to her, “You think they only have half a moon there? Maybe I’d only have half a transformation!” Softly, “I could teach you to surf, if you wanted.”
He would’ve liked that. Surfing was freedom for him; it was who he was. Charging a huge wave was maybe the closest he'd gotten to sublime. Sharing it with her would be . . . like, despite everything, despite the guilt and the pain and fucked-up-ness of all this, he was where he was supposed to be.
She pretty much ignored the offer, absently pulled him towards her for another round of fucking.
He was cool with that. Fucking Kat was close to sublime too. Maybe even closer.
Next day they left for Mystic Falls. She told him she was going to save him.)
Heaving darkness turns into light as, unsteadily, his eyes flicker open. He takes in Damon Salvatore, the room, the chains, and remembers that he’s screwed.
He must’ve blacked out again. Notes the rasping groan rattling in his throat, the bile surging up from his seared guts, the shifting connection between his body and his mind. He can’t tell where it hurts anymore, just everywhere, everything, and this is even worse than turning. There’s a cycle to transformation. With this, he doesn’t know what’s coming next, or when it’s coming, while Damon gets off on dishing out surprises, applying pain, asking questions he knows he’s going to answer sooner or later, when he breaks.
He wonders if she knows. She couldn’t. She cares about him, right? Doesn’t she?
She said she’d lift the curse.
She loves him.
Right?
“Why would a vampire help a werewolf break a curse that keeps them from turning whenever they want?”
The exact wrong thing to say at the exact wrong time, as though Damon has a telepathic hotline to the suspicion he always hopes is wrong, that something is missing between him and her, something he could never quite trust.
“She loves me,” he says, almost confident.
But spoken, the words clatter out, exposed, humiliating, and suddenly he’s clear, doesn’t need Damon’s mocking confirmation that he’s a moron. From one second to the next, from thought to speech, his world of tender, feral love weakens its hold on reality a fragment more, and he begins to give up.
He wonders if all she was ever doing was playing him; if she knows how close he was to being taken in.
Endless black lashes slow blink over brown, shining eyes, and she smiles dreaminess, steals her fingers through his hair. You know I love you. It’s an illusion, something his failing brain is making up, but then, she always kind of was. He wants to wish he never met her, but her voice brushes, whispers against his ear, and he can’t get there, can’t hate her, even now.
“I love her,” he says, because the last words he'll say out loud should be undeniably real.
Damon’s right, he wants to die, get this over with here and now. He’s also wrong: “Katherine will only rip your heart out. Let me do it for her.”
Because in every way that matters to him, she got there first, and all that’s left to wound, when the agony judders through his chest, is already beaten-up, bruised, broken.
He wishes he’d died surfing, free, himself, not a part of this fucked-up nightmare. He wishes they’d never come here, he'd never found her out, that he was with her, in her bed, screw the curse!
One leaden breath, one last gulp of conscious air, one moment feeling Damon’s hand wrapped around his heart, cruel, gruesome, brutally intimate, and he disconnects, tunnels inside the pain like it’s his own personal ocean. And all the waves he ever surfed, and those he never got the chance to, swallow him - I love you too - into blue darkness falling.
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Characters: Mason Lockwood, (Damon Salvatore)
Pairing: Mason/Katherine (implied)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 700
Disclaimer: Here
Summary: Fragmented thoughts and memories during the last moments of Mason Lockwood’s life. Set during and, on occasion, directly quoting from episode 2.06.
(He never got to surf Mavericks. With all the amped up werewolf strength? Man, he would’ve rocked it! It might just have made the curse worth bearing.
Once, he asked her,
“How about a road trip to Cali? Half Moon Bay?” Joked - okay, it was lame, but he felt like he could say anything to her, “You think they only have half a moon there? Maybe I’d only have half a transformation!” Softly, “I could teach you to surf, if you wanted.”
He would’ve liked that. Surfing was freedom for him; it was who he was. Charging a huge wave was maybe the closest he'd gotten to sublime. Sharing it with her would be . . . like, despite everything, despite the guilt and the pain and fucked-up-ness of all this, he was where he was supposed to be.
She pretty much ignored the offer, absently pulled him towards her for another round of fucking.
He was cool with that. Fucking Kat was close to sublime too. Maybe even closer.
Next day they left for Mystic Falls. She told him she was going to save him.)
Heaving darkness turns into light as, unsteadily, his eyes flicker open. He takes in Damon Salvatore, the room, the chains, and remembers that he’s screwed.
He must’ve blacked out again. Notes the rasping groan rattling in his throat, the bile surging up from his seared guts, the shifting connection between his body and his mind. He can’t tell where it hurts anymore, just everywhere, everything, and this is even worse than turning. There’s a cycle to transformation. With this, he doesn’t know what’s coming next, or when it’s coming, while Damon gets off on dishing out surprises, applying pain, asking questions he knows he’s going to answer sooner or later, when he breaks.
He wonders if she knows. She couldn’t. She cares about him, right? Doesn’t she?
She said she’d lift the curse.
She loves him.
Right?
“Why would a vampire help a werewolf break a curse that keeps them from turning whenever they want?”
The exact wrong thing to say at the exact wrong time, as though Damon has a telepathic hotline to the suspicion he always hopes is wrong, that something is missing between him and her, something he could never quite trust.
“She loves me,” he says, almost confident.
But spoken, the words clatter out, exposed, humiliating, and suddenly he’s clear, doesn’t need Damon’s mocking confirmation that he’s a moron. From one second to the next, from thought to speech, his world of tender, feral love weakens its hold on reality a fragment more, and he begins to give up.
He wonders if all she was ever doing was playing him; if she knows how close he was to being taken in.
Endless black lashes slow blink over brown, shining eyes, and she smiles dreaminess, steals her fingers through his hair. You know I love you. It’s an illusion, something his failing brain is making up, but then, she always kind of was. He wants to wish he never met her, but her voice brushes, whispers against his ear, and he can’t get there, can’t hate her, even now.
“I love her,” he says, because the last words he'll say out loud should be undeniably real.
Damon’s right, he wants to die, get this over with here and now. He’s also wrong: “Katherine will only rip your heart out. Let me do it for her.”
Because in every way that matters to him, she got there first, and all that’s left to wound, when the agony judders through his chest, is already beaten-up, bruised, broken.
He wishes he’d died surfing, free, himself, not a part of this fucked-up nightmare. He wishes they’d never come here, he'd never found her out, that he was with her, in her bed, screw the curse!
One leaden breath, one last gulp of conscious air, one moment feeling Damon’s hand wrapped around his heart, cruel, gruesome, brutally intimate, and he disconnects, tunnels inside the pain like it’s his own personal ocean. And all the waves he ever surfed, and those he never got the chance to, swallow him - I love you too - into blue darkness falling.