Dance With the Devil
Title: Dance With the Devil
Author: coquilleon
Summary: It takes dedication and endurance. Long hours, bloody feet, and the competition a mere three feet away. It used to be an escape but now Elena's world is crumbling. They both want to save her in their own way. Dance AU.
Characters/Pairing: Elena/Elijah Elena/Damon
Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort
Rating: NC - 17
Notes: Iiiiii'm not even sure? I will finish this.
Istruttore always says to have complete focus when dancing.
Ballet needs preciseness, perfection - every position, pointe, pirouette, absolutely correct. It always rang true with confusion for Elena - under the brilliant influence she dances better. The gradual rise and fall of the chemicals in her bloodstream making every twist like running water, and every leap like the gentle swell of a dove's feathers. The spike in her libido, automatic and uncontrollable, adds a silken sensuality to the way she moves her hips. Tempting, delicate, innocent. She doesn't do it all the time - she needs a clear head to get the initial moves perfect. But afterwards, in the dim, grimy lighting of the bathroom, locked in the last stall, there's the powder dissolving bitter on her tongue. The burning inhale of herbal air filling her lungs, or the quick sharp sting of a needle under the flesh of her inner thigh, always to the melody of that dripping tap. But the brief pain is always worth it as the looseness, the confidence, fills her up, pushing up against her skin. Telling her to move, commanding that she become a constant note in every song, and she listens. Imagines her body twirling and curling to become the A sharp or D flat on every line of the bars and she blends.
Istruttore always says to stay away from drugs - needles will kill, smoke will take away your stamina, but she thinks he's wrong. He's a wonderful teacher, the Best of the best, encouragement sparse, gestures of affection rare, but he's wrong this time, Elena knows.
She twirls, flows into a leap, lands like fresh snow, the drugs warm in her system - a comfort - and she's perfect and beautiful. Painfully, perfectly thin, eyes closed against large pupils, she spins and spins and spins, one with the wind she creates with her long brown hair. One with the music that flows upon it.
Perfection. This is perfection.
o o o
"Hips straight, damnit! Stop the music." The piano and chimes of Saeglopur comes to an abrupt halt and every dancer stills. Istruttore waves his hand, a familiar gesture that tells them all to sit against the mirror, under the barre.
"Caroline, Elena. Stay on the floor." Elena looks to the other girl, sees her flushed red cheeks and sweaty blonde hair tied up in a neat bun. "Caroline. Fouetté rond de jambe en tournant. Allegro. Three of them." She does as she's told, feet perfect, form perfect. She's barely finished her last turn before he barks the same to Elena. She isn't even halfway through the second when she feels strong, angry hands on her hips. They jerk her roughly, but she doesn't protest even though his fingers are digging into her flesh. "Hips straight, goddamnit. This isn't elementary. Do it right." He lets go and she turns, quick and precise. He claps his hands quickly, twice, and she leaps, grande jete perfect. "Balloon! Again!" Elena jumps, sweat dripping down her face, salty on her lips, falling into the eyes fixed on her own reflection in the mirror. "Pirouette à la seconde!" Her heart flips over in her chest as she changes positions and spins, but the angle is all wrong and her ankle gives a cry of protest. It's unfair, they never do pirouette à la seconde, the girls. When her knees hit the ground he pays her no mind. "Caroline go. Three." Once again, she's perfect. Second position aligned and then she's turning quickly, a feather in the wind. From the ground, Elena watches Istruttore nod briskly when she is done, and pat the other girl's sweaty cheek gently, thumb straying underneath her eye. "Beautiful," he says and pulls away.
"Everyone up. The music will start again. Do. It. Perfectly. Be like Caroline!" He strides to the front, past Elena who is rising to her feet. The piano fills the room but before she can even raise her arms, he points his finger at her and thumbs over his shoulder sharply before fixing his eyes on the rest of the class. Go take a break.
Her stomach dips and she doesn't move to go. Instead, throwing herself into the dance, forcing herself to flow with the others, make herself weightless as Matt raises her above his head. Each move leads gracefully into the other, even when the music picks up speed and they're all a blur of limbs. Elena falls into a graceful heap after those three pirouettes, just as she is supposed to, and silence fills the studio.
Istruttore's cool brown eyes survey them. "Good. That was better." That was perfect, Elena wants to say, but keeps her mouth shut. "Go get some water and go home. We're done for today." Elena glances out of the wall of windows and is surprised to see that the only light comes from the streetlights, hazy and orange. She doesn't meet his eyes as they all file out to the changing room.
o o o
"Elena. A moment, please." She doesn't want to speak to him, or even look at him, but Elena finds her feet making their way towards where he stands as the last few dancers trickle out to their cars, or the bus stop, or the tunnel to catch their train.
"Yes, Istruttore."
He is flipping through CDs and doesn't look up at her as he speaks. "That is only for when I am teaching you to dance, Elena. You know that. It is Elijah when we are alone." She says nothing and shifts on her feet, watching them pointe and flex even in dirty black slip-ons. The soles are pounding and her toes feel like they're bleeding. He puts the CDs down on the folding chair he bangs on the wooden floor sometimes when he's frustrated. Soon his spicy, smooth cologne surrounds her and his calloused hands cradle her small face. "Two totally different worlds, Elena."
"You didn't need to do that," she says quietly still not meeting his eyes. His grip tightens as he forces her to look at him.
"Yes. I did. Caroline is the best. She dances seven days a week. She is better than all of you, she is better than you." Tears prick at her eyes and she looks away, over his shoulder and up at the water spotted ceiling. He pulls her closer. "I want you to be the best Elena. That's why I push you like I do. Look at me." She does. "I want you to be better than her and it takes dedication that I know you have. I've seen it in you, I've seen you lose yourself in the music and blow us away. Every day I want to see that." A tear slips down her face as she nods. In a movement similar to earlier he strokes her cheek. He kisses her temple and breathes her in. "I know you can be the best," he whispers and she nods again, quickly, before pulling away gently.
o o o
She feels the relieving sting of a needle before she leaves the studio. The train sways back and forth, but she practices her spins for the whole 45 minute trip on the way back to her house.
Dedication. She has the dedication.
She does.
Author: coquilleon
Summary: It takes dedication and endurance. Long hours, bloody feet, and the competition a mere three feet away. It used to be an escape but now Elena's world is crumbling. They both want to save her in their own way. Dance AU.
Characters/Pairing: Elena/Elijah Elena/Damon
Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort
Rating: NC - 17
Notes: Iiiiii'm not even sure? I will finish this.
Istruttore always says to have complete focus when dancing.
Ballet needs preciseness, perfection - every position, pointe, pirouette, absolutely correct. It always rang true with confusion for Elena - under the brilliant influence she dances better. The gradual rise and fall of the chemicals in her bloodstream making every twist like running water, and every leap like the gentle swell of a dove's feathers. The spike in her libido, automatic and uncontrollable, adds a silken sensuality to the way she moves her hips. Tempting, delicate, innocent. She doesn't do it all the time - she needs a clear head to get the initial moves perfect. But afterwards, in the dim, grimy lighting of the bathroom, locked in the last stall, there's the powder dissolving bitter on her tongue. The burning inhale of herbal air filling her lungs, or the quick sharp sting of a needle under the flesh of her inner thigh, always to the melody of that dripping tap. But the brief pain is always worth it as the looseness, the confidence, fills her up, pushing up against her skin. Telling her to move, commanding that she become a constant note in every song, and she listens. Imagines her body twirling and curling to become the A sharp or D flat on every line of the bars and she blends.
Istruttore always says to stay away from drugs - needles will kill, smoke will take away your stamina, but she thinks he's wrong. He's a wonderful teacher, the Best of the best, encouragement sparse, gestures of affection rare, but he's wrong this time, Elena knows.
She twirls, flows into a leap, lands like fresh snow, the drugs warm in her system - a comfort - and she's perfect and beautiful. Painfully, perfectly thin, eyes closed against large pupils, she spins and spins and spins, one with the wind she creates with her long brown hair. One with the music that flows upon it.
Perfection. This is perfection.
o o o
"Hips straight, damnit! Stop the music." The piano and chimes of Saeglopur comes to an abrupt halt and every dancer stills. Istruttore waves his hand, a familiar gesture that tells them all to sit against the mirror, under the barre.
"Caroline, Elena. Stay on the floor." Elena looks to the other girl, sees her flushed red cheeks and sweaty blonde hair tied up in a neat bun. "Caroline. Fouetté rond de jambe en tournant. Allegro. Three of them." She does as she's told, feet perfect, form perfect. She's barely finished her last turn before he barks the same to Elena. She isn't even halfway through the second when she feels strong, angry hands on her hips. They jerk her roughly, but she doesn't protest even though his fingers are digging into her flesh. "Hips straight, goddamnit. This isn't elementary. Do it right." He lets go and she turns, quick and precise. He claps his hands quickly, twice, and she leaps, grande jete perfect. "Balloon! Again!" Elena jumps, sweat dripping down her face, salty on her lips, falling into the eyes fixed on her own reflection in the mirror. "Pirouette à la seconde!" Her heart flips over in her chest as she changes positions and spins, but the angle is all wrong and her ankle gives a cry of protest. It's unfair, they never do pirouette à la seconde, the girls. When her knees hit the ground he pays her no mind. "Caroline go. Three." Once again, she's perfect. Second position aligned and then she's turning quickly, a feather in the wind. From the ground, Elena watches Istruttore nod briskly when she is done, and pat the other girl's sweaty cheek gently, thumb straying underneath her eye. "Beautiful," he says and pulls away.
"Everyone up. The music will start again. Do. It. Perfectly. Be like Caroline!" He strides to the front, past Elena who is rising to her feet. The piano fills the room but before she can even raise her arms, he points his finger at her and thumbs over his shoulder sharply before fixing his eyes on the rest of the class. Go take a break.
Her stomach dips and she doesn't move to go. Instead, throwing herself into the dance, forcing herself to flow with the others, make herself weightless as Matt raises her above his head. Each move leads gracefully into the other, even when the music picks up speed and they're all a blur of limbs. Elena falls into a graceful heap after those three pirouettes, just as she is supposed to, and silence fills the studio.
Istruttore's cool brown eyes survey them. "Good. That was better." That was perfect, Elena wants to say, but keeps her mouth shut. "Go get some water and go home. We're done for today." Elena glances out of the wall of windows and is surprised to see that the only light comes from the streetlights, hazy and orange. She doesn't meet his eyes as they all file out to the changing room.
o o o
"Elena. A moment, please." She doesn't want to speak to him, or even look at him, but Elena finds her feet making their way towards where he stands as the last few dancers trickle out to their cars, or the bus stop, or the tunnel to catch their train.
"Yes, Istruttore."
He is flipping through CDs and doesn't look up at her as he speaks. "That is only for when I am teaching you to dance, Elena. You know that. It is Elijah when we are alone." She says nothing and shifts on her feet, watching them pointe and flex even in dirty black slip-ons. The soles are pounding and her toes feel like they're bleeding. He puts the CDs down on the folding chair he bangs on the wooden floor sometimes when he's frustrated. Soon his spicy, smooth cologne surrounds her and his calloused hands cradle her small face. "Two totally different worlds, Elena."
"You didn't need to do that," she says quietly still not meeting his eyes. His grip tightens as he forces her to look at him.
"Yes. I did. Caroline is the best. She dances seven days a week. She is better than all of you, she is better than you." Tears prick at her eyes and she looks away, over his shoulder and up at the water spotted ceiling. He pulls her closer. "I want you to be the best Elena. That's why I push you like I do. Look at me." She does. "I want you to be better than her and it takes dedication that I know you have. I've seen it in you, I've seen you lose yourself in the music and blow us away. Every day I want to see that." A tear slips down her face as she nods. In a movement similar to earlier he strokes her cheek. He kisses her temple and breathes her in. "I know you can be the best," he whispers and she nods again, quickly, before pulling away gently.
o o o
She feels the relieving sting of a needle before she leaves the studio. The train sways back and forth, but she practices her spins for the whole 45 minute trip on the way back to her house.
Dedication. She has the dedication.
She does.