Fic: Civilised
Title: Civilised
Fandom: Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Stefan/Damon
Rating: R
Warnings: Incest, dub-con
Spoilers: General series
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: "I only promised I wouldn't eat her. I don't remember saying anything about the rest of these lovely, lovely people."
It takes three hours longer than Damon expects before Stefan storms in, in an overly dramatic sort of way that sets all the books on the desk juddering. It's almost a relief, because he's been waiting in the same position for long enough that the boredom has almost driven him insane. Though he doesn't bother to look up.
"I want you to stop," Stefan demands.
Damon sighs.
"Stop what?" he asks in a carefully bored voice, when he knows perfectly well. He almost always knows perfectly what Stefan is fretting about. Because he never bothers to hide anything. Even without the endlessly dull trawl through Stefan's diary Damon would be able to see that desperate, hopeful, almost pathetic, hint of neediness.
"Elena's friends," he says fiercely. "Stay away from them."
Damon sighs theatrically, tips his head to look at his brother. Who's practically vibrating with chivalrous indignation. It's very masculine and he's forced to conclude that it's an awful waste of fierce, bright righteousness. Because they both know that Stefan no longer has the balls to back it up.
"I only promised I wouldn't eat her. I don't remember saying anything about the rest of these lovely, lovely people."
Stefan takes two steps forward and snatches the book out of his hand.
Which is just rude.
Damon sighs.
"If you wanted me to pay attention to you all you had to do was ask."
But Stefan's not finished, sliding round the desk and into his personal space, potent and furious under whatever strange and unusual whim has got under his skin this time. Probably something Damon has done. He thinks he's really starting to feel persecuted. Maybe he's the victim here? He wonders how irritated Stefan will be if he suggests as much.
Stefan's still burning through his anger, always burning through it, never storing it up and using it. Oh the things Damon could teach him about being angry with a purpose!
Until Stefan derails all his thoughts of brotherly solidarity when he pushes Damon's legs off of the desk, and really, that's just unacceptable. Damon moves then, moves faster than Stefan can. He has him slammed into the wall, pinned there against the plaster, which quietly rains dust down from the impact of flesh and bone.
"Maybe if you ask me nicely, I won't eat them," he says sensibly. Because Stefan does love sensible conversations.
Though he's far too close to be entirely sensible. Close enough that they're probably a scandal in any polite society.
Stefan's used to his invasions of personal space, used to Damon pushing himself into his space. But this, Damon's never dared anything quite like this. Maybe the poking of old wounds has made him more reckless than usual. Or maybe he's getting sentimental in his old age. Hell, maybe this town is just impossibly dull.
So he lays his mouth against his brother's.
Stefan's goes rigid underneath him, hands flying up between them to shove at his chest.
Damon considers, just for an instant, not letting Stefan go, of reminding him exactly which one of them is on the high protein diet and which one of them is weak and soft and vulnerable. Because it's a reminder Damon is always happy to give.
But he lets Stefan shove him back a pace, lets him have his moment of horror.
Nothing says he can't enjoy it.
"That isn't funny!" Stefan says fiercely, shakily. Like Damon's done something terrible, and it's familiar and new at the same time.
"What's the matter Stefan?" Damon pulls a face. "Is this a little too incestuous for you?"
Oh, now that's a word that hits its mark. Stefan flinches, hands on Damon's in an instant, shoving them away from him like a scandalised Victorian housewife.
Damon can't resist laughing, because it's all just too funny for words.
He opens his mouth in surprise, like he's just had the most fantastic idea.
"Maybe I should start with her friend? Bonnie is it?"
Damon watches anger chase misery across his brother's face, watches it and could have quite happily drowned in it, because it's so perfect. He has no idea why he didn't push exactly like this before. The conflict is beautiful, and Damon decides that every time he pressed in close, every time he slid into Stefan's personal space and teased him it was a waste. Always a waste, because nothing he's ever done has made Stefan look like this.
It's beautiful.
"It's like you don't care at all. Anyone would think you don't have her best interests at heart. That you want her friends to die horrible gruesome deaths." It's so easy to slide his way under Stefan's skin, to cut all the way through in a way he just never bothers to protect himself from.
Because nothing, absolutely nothing, could be better than making Stefan come to him. Making him think he has a choice. He loves the moral high ground, let him see how rough the road can be.
"You wouldn't want that would you?"
Stefan turns his head back. There's a quiver of angry tension at the edge of his jaw that's fucking delicious.
"Why are you doing this?" he demands, but Damon just smiles because he's never needed a reason, oh he's had good reasons before but he's never needed them. Sometimes you just have to go wherever your whims took you, and his whims have taken him so close, Stefan's mouth a breath away and suddenly all the more interesting for it.
"Ask me nicely Stefan," he says quietly, and they both know he's not talking about words any more. Damon's always wanted things he couldn't have but this- oh this is something beyond something he can't have, and he can't resist trying to get his hands on it.
"Don't do this."
"I'm not doing anything," Damon reminds him.
Stefan looks miserable, beautifully, tragically miserable.
"I promise I won't do anything socially unacceptable for an appropriate period of time, say...two weeks, if you do." He smiles, like that will make it better, they've played games too long for Stefan to believe it but Damon has to follow his own rules. Because that's the only way he knows how to play. And Stefan has never disappointed him before. Poor honourable, deluded Stefan. "See we have a contract, it's all very civilised."
Damon could smell him this close, thick and familiar and running shades of scared and unhappy.
"There's nothing about you that's civilised," Stefan says harshly.
Damon raises an eyebrow and tries not to look too amused, he tries, and probably fails.
"Well then, feel free to kiss me in an uncivilised way, I won't mind."
Stefan swallows like he's just asked him to do something horrible and Damon holds on to the laugh that crawls up the back of his throat, lets his face seem curious. He should be ashamed of how easy this is going to be.
Then he raises an eyebrow.
"No? Quite frankly it's almost impossible to get me to agree to anything, I'm surprised you're not jumping at the chance."
He sees the exact moment Stefan accepts. The bitter, hurt little flash that Damon would do this, and it's still touching that Stefan is always so surprised. Because Stefan loves him and hates him in equal measure. He continues to think the best of him, no matter how much evidence Damon piles up to the contrary.
But he's not above using it. He's not above using everything.
"I'll be good Stefan, I promise, just this." Damon can sound sincere when he wants to be. When he needs to be.
He watches belief fight with experience, with familiarity.
Then Stefan relaxes, forces himself to relax when Damon touches him again. Nothing overt, just hands on his waist, a curious press of fingers. Before he leans in and kisses him again. Stefan isn't exactly an enthusiastic participant, but he doesn't pull away this time.
Damon breathes laughter against his mouth.
Stefan opens his eyes, surprised, and scowls at him like he wants to do something abrupt and violent but he’s restraining himself.
He could try that too, Damon is willing to go with whatever Stefan decides here. He proves as much by not moving, by not taking. By making Stefan decide.
"Are you going to keep your eyes closed? Pretend I'm someone else?" Damon asks, honestly curious. Or perhaps Stefan will remember every second of it and use it to fuel his own personal quest to declare Damon his own personal demon, and oh he likes the idea of that. It makes him feel special.
Either way Damon doesn't let him get away with that. Doesn't let him pretend.
"Open your mouth," he demands, and Stefan frowns, quick and sharp, before doing as he's told. Damon has no hesitation about taking advantage of it.
Damon feels every flinch and tilt of his head when he slides his tongue inside, when he makes Stefan's mouth open for him. Oh it's not even a nice kiss, it's a vicious, dirty kiss, too rough and too hard, and it's clear that Stefan wants to fight him every step of the way. The fact that he doesn't is surprisingly arousing.
It's been a while since Stefan just let him have something without a fight.
He should have tried blackmail years ago.
Stefan's always trying to drag himself up into the light, and the thought of dragging him back down into the dirt, of holding him there and making him like it- well that's just too good to pass up.
He pulls Stefan's t-shirt up, works open the belt of his jeans.
Stefan tenses up, tugs his mouth away.
"Damon, don't-" he starts.
"Don't what?" Damon drags open the button and zipper, denim easing apart under just the slightest attention.
Stefan's jaw clenches again, and Damon decides he could, if he's not very careful, become addicted to this.
Because Stefan is going to make this easy. He does nothing, nothing at all when Damon pushes his jeans over his hipbones, fingers dipping under the waistband of his boxer shorts.
"You can stop this whenever you want," Damon reminds him, hand sliding over the pale too-smooth curves of Stefan's hipbone, fingernails dragging through the hair at his groin. "Just tell me no, tell me to stop-" He spreads his fingers, slides his hand down lower, finds Stefan half hard already, and that's surprising enough that Damon makes a low noise in his throat that he doesn't intend. Soft and encouraging.
Stefan presses back into the wall, tries to slither out of his grip while going absolutely nowhere.
"Did I make you hard Stefan?" Damon asks quietly and there's a too-quick flash of betrayal that Damon's willing to bet is directed at Stefan himself, rather than him. It's closely followed by that familiar taste of shame. Only Damon's never had it like this before. Never held Stefan's shame in his hand and kissed it from his mouth like he fucking owns it.
It's a whole different flavour of corruption, more powerful, more dangerous in its flirtation somehow, and how appropriate that word is now. Though 'flirtation' seems a little insufficient for the way Stefan is fighting not to push into his loose grip.
He shakes his head, a quick, jerky movement, and Damon has to lean a little closer, has to catch where fierce resistance turns to arousal.
He smells so good under his hair and Stefan flinches away from his mouth, from his interest, like he thinks Damon might try and bury his teeth somewhere they're not supposed to go. Like he's afraid the taste of him will be too intimate, like he's afraid that he'll lose what little humanity he's clinging to if they fill the room with blood.
Damon would quite happily fill the room with blood if he thought it would help. Though the logistics of that would probably be unworkable.
He licks his hand and Stefan makes a low noise like he's been punched, expression cracked at the edges when Damon slides his hand back into his jeans, and that's so much better, so much easier. Stefan's shivered out groan at the contact feels like a victory.
"You have no idea what you look like like this, wild, vicious, greedy. God, I bet you'd look so good-" Damon bites back what he wants to say, keeps his observations to himself and wonders, if his brother is allowed to grow attached to the little people here, exactly how far he'll let Damon push to keep his miserably dull life.
That maybe Stefan won't tell him to stop. No matter what he asks for. That maybe, one day, he won't even have to be blackmailed into a little brotherly affection.
He smiles against Stefan's mouth. It's soft now, so impossibly soft, and open, like he isn't even trying to be angry any more, like he's just accepting, and he's making soft, broken noises on every slow slide of Damon's hand. They're his to catch, to taste, to force back into Stefan's mouth if he wants to.
"Go on," Damon encourages. "Push into me, you know you want to."
Stefan's gasping when he doesn't even need to, making slow noises of refusal but pushing all the same, like he just can't help himself, and Damon honestly never expected him to be like this.
He tightens his hand, hears the low growl and the quick-rough shove of Stefan's hips that almost feels helpless.
Damon can't resist the urge to press closer, to dig a hand in Stefan's hair, pull his head up, make him look at him. Before he's kissing him again, slow, greedy, invasive kisses that leave the edges of Stefan's mouth wet and obscene. Too far gone to notice how much Damon is taking. But he's always been good at that. Always.
He's always had to win.
Stefan pushes in, then stills, a shameless half-gasp torn out of his throat and then he groans like Damon has shattered him.
Damon's hand still shifts, slowly, lazily, while Stefan tries to breathe, forgets he doesn't have to, and shivers through every tiny aftershock. Damon fights briefly for control while Stefan makes hoarse little noises against his cheek. Doesn't make a move, doesn't even try and kiss him again, though he wants to, wants to so fucking badly.
His brother's loosely pliant against the wall, poised between satisfaction and slow horror, and it's too tempting not to shove him off the edge.
"I think I can amuse myself elsewhere for a while," Damon whispers against Stefan's open mouth, fingers still trailing the mess left against the twitching muscle of his stomach. "Since you asked me so nicely."
Fandom: Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Stefan/Damon
Rating: R
Warnings: Incest, dub-con
Spoilers: General series
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: "I only promised I wouldn't eat her. I don't remember saying anything about the rest of these lovely, lovely people."
It takes three hours longer than Damon expects before Stefan storms in, in an overly dramatic sort of way that sets all the books on the desk juddering. It's almost a relief, because he's been waiting in the same position for long enough that the boredom has almost driven him insane. Though he doesn't bother to look up.
"I want you to stop," Stefan demands.
Damon sighs.
"Stop what?" he asks in a carefully bored voice, when he knows perfectly well. He almost always knows perfectly what Stefan is fretting about. Because he never bothers to hide anything. Even without the endlessly dull trawl through Stefan's diary Damon would be able to see that desperate, hopeful, almost pathetic, hint of neediness.
"Elena's friends," he says fiercely. "Stay away from them."
Damon sighs theatrically, tips his head to look at his brother. Who's practically vibrating with chivalrous indignation. It's very masculine and he's forced to conclude that it's an awful waste of fierce, bright righteousness. Because they both know that Stefan no longer has the balls to back it up.
"I only promised I wouldn't eat her. I don't remember saying anything about the rest of these lovely, lovely people."
Stefan takes two steps forward and snatches the book out of his hand.
Which is just rude.
Damon sighs.
"If you wanted me to pay attention to you all you had to do was ask."
But Stefan's not finished, sliding round the desk and into his personal space, potent and furious under whatever strange and unusual whim has got under his skin this time. Probably something Damon has done. He thinks he's really starting to feel persecuted. Maybe he's the victim here? He wonders how irritated Stefan will be if he suggests as much.
Stefan's still burning through his anger, always burning through it, never storing it up and using it. Oh the things Damon could teach him about being angry with a purpose!
Until Stefan derails all his thoughts of brotherly solidarity when he pushes Damon's legs off of the desk, and really, that's just unacceptable. Damon moves then, moves faster than Stefan can. He has him slammed into the wall, pinned there against the plaster, which quietly rains dust down from the impact of flesh and bone.
"Maybe if you ask me nicely, I won't eat them," he says sensibly. Because Stefan does love sensible conversations.
Though he's far too close to be entirely sensible. Close enough that they're probably a scandal in any polite society.
Stefan's used to his invasions of personal space, used to Damon pushing himself into his space. But this, Damon's never dared anything quite like this. Maybe the poking of old wounds has made him more reckless than usual. Or maybe he's getting sentimental in his old age. Hell, maybe this town is just impossibly dull.
So he lays his mouth against his brother's.
Stefan's goes rigid underneath him, hands flying up between them to shove at his chest.
Damon considers, just for an instant, not letting Stefan go, of reminding him exactly which one of them is on the high protein diet and which one of them is weak and soft and vulnerable. Because it's a reminder Damon is always happy to give.
But he lets Stefan shove him back a pace, lets him have his moment of horror.
Nothing says he can't enjoy it.
"That isn't funny!" Stefan says fiercely, shakily. Like Damon's done something terrible, and it's familiar and new at the same time.
"What's the matter Stefan?" Damon pulls a face. "Is this a little too incestuous for you?"
Oh, now that's a word that hits its mark. Stefan flinches, hands on Damon's in an instant, shoving them away from him like a scandalised Victorian housewife.
Damon can't resist laughing, because it's all just too funny for words.
He opens his mouth in surprise, like he's just had the most fantastic idea.
"Maybe I should start with her friend? Bonnie is it?"
Damon watches anger chase misery across his brother's face, watches it and could have quite happily drowned in it, because it's so perfect. He has no idea why he didn't push exactly like this before. The conflict is beautiful, and Damon decides that every time he pressed in close, every time he slid into Stefan's personal space and teased him it was a waste. Always a waste, because nothing he's ever done has made Stefan look like this.
It's beautiful.
"It's like you don't care at all. Anyone would think you don't have her best interests at heart. That you want her friends to die horrible gruesome deaths." It's so easy to slide his way under Stefan's skin, to cut all the way through in a way he just never bothers to protect himself from.
Because nothing, absolutely nothing, could be better than making Stefan come to him. Making him think he has a choice. He loves the moral high ground, let him see how rough the road can be.
"You wouldn't want that would you?"
Stefan turns his head back. There's a quiver of angry tension at the edge of his jaw that's fucking delicious.
"Why are you doing this?" he demands, but Damon just smiles because he's never needed a reason, oh he's had good reasons before but he's never needed them. Sometimes you just have to go wherever your whims took you, and his whims have taken him so close, Stefan's mouth a breath away and suddenly all the more interesting for it.
"Ask me nicely Stefan," he says quietly, and they both know he's not talking about words any more. Damon's always wanted things he couldn't have but this- oh this is something beyond something he can't have, and he can't resist trying to get his hands on it.
"Don't do this."
"I'm not doing anything," Damon reminds him.
Stefan looks miserable, beautifully, tragically miserable.
"I promise I won't do anything socially unacceptable for an appropriate period of time, say...two weeks, if you do." He smiles, like that will make it better, they've played games too long for Stefan to believe it but Damon has to follow his own rules. Because that's the only way he knows how to play. And Stefan has never disappointed him before. Poor honourable, deluded Stefan. "See we have a contract, it's all very civilised."
Damon could smell him this close, thick and familiar and running shades of scared and unhappy.
"There's nothing about you that's civilised," Stefan says harshly.
Damon raises an eyebrow and tries not to look too amused, he tries, and probably fails.
"Well then, feel free to kiss me in an uncivilised way, I won't mind."
Stefan swallows like he's just asked him to do something horrible and Damon holds on to the laugh that crawls up the back of his throat, lets his face seem curious. He should be ashamed of how easy this is going to be.
Then he raises an eyebrow.
"No? Quite frankly it's almost impossible to get me to agree to anything, I'm surprised you're not jumping at the chance."
He sees the exact moment Stefan accepts. The bitter, hurt little flash that Damon would do this, and it's still touching that Stefan is always so surprised. Because Stefan loves him and hates him in equal measure. He continues to think the best of him, no matter how much evidence Damon piles up to the contrary.
But he's not above using it. He's not above using everything.
"I'll be good Stefan, I promise, just this." Damon can sound sincere when he wants to be. When he needs to be.
He watches belief fight with experience, with familiarity.
Then Stefan relaxes, forces himself to relax when Damon touches him again. Nothing overt, just hands on his waist, a curious press of fingers. Before he leans in and kisses him again. Stefan isn't exactly an enthusiastic participant, but he doesn't pull away this time.
Damon breathes laughter against his mouth.
Stefan opens his eyes, surprised, and scowls at him like he wants to do something abrupt and violent but he’s restraining himself.
He could try that too, Damon is willing to go with whatever Stefan decides here. He proves as much by not moving, by not taking. By making Stefan decide.
"Are you going to keep your eyes closed? Pretend I'm someone else?" Damon asks, honestly curious. Or perhaps Stefan will remember every second of it and use it to fuel his own personal quest to declare Damon his own personal demon, and oh he likes the idea of that. It makes him feel special.
Either way Damon doesn't let him get away with that. Doesn't let him pretend.
"Open your mouth," he demands, and Stefan frowns, quick and sharp, before doing as he's told. Damon has no hesitation about taking advantage of it.
Damon feels every flinch and tilt of his head when he slides his tongue inside, when he makes Stefan's mouth open for him. Oh it's not even a nice kiss, it's a vicious, dirty kiss, too rough and too hard, and it's clear that Stefan wants to fight him every step of the way. The fact that he doesn't is surprisingly arousing.
It's been a while since Stefan just let him have something without a fight.
He should have tried blackmail years ago.
Stefan's always trying to drag himself up into the light, and the thought of dragging him back down into the dirt, of holding him there and making him like it- well that's just too good to pass up.
He pulls Stefan's t-shirt up, works open the belt of his jeans.
Stefan tenses up, tugs his mouth away.
"Damon, don't-" he starts.
"Don't what?" Damon drags open the button and zipper, denim easing apart under just the slightest attention.
Stefan's jaw clenches again, and Damon decides he could, if he's not very careful, become addicted to this.
Because Stefan is going to make this easy. He does nothing, nothing at all when Damon pushes his jeans over his hipbones, fingers dipping under the waistband of his boxer shorts.
"You can stop this whenever you want," Damon reminds him, hand sliding over the pale too-smooth curves of Stefan's hipbone, fingernails dragging through the hair at his groin. "Just tell me no, tell me to stop-" He spreads his fingers, slides his hand down lower, finds Stefan half hard already, and that's surprising enough that Damon makes a low noise in his throat that he doesn't intend. Soft and encouraging.
Stefan presses back into the wall, tries to slither out of his grip while going absolutely nowhere.
"Did I make you hard Stefan?" Damon asks quietly and there's a too-quick flash of betrayal that Damon's willing to bet is directed at Stefan himself, rather than him. It's closely followed by that familiar taste of shame. Only Damon's never had it like this before. Never held Stefan's shame in his hand and kissed it from his mouth like he fucking owns it.
It's a whole different flavour of corruption, more powerful, more dangerous in its flirtation somehow, and how appropriate that word is now. Though 'flirtation' seems a little insufficient for the way Stefan is fighting not to push into his loose grip.
He shakes his head, a quick, jerky movement, and Damon has to lean a little closer, has to catch where fierce resistance turns to arousal.
He smells so good under his hair and Stefan flinches away from his mouth, from his interest, like he thinks Damon might try and bury his teeth somewhere they're not supposed to go. Like he's afraid the taste of him will be too intimate, like he's afraid that he'll lose what little humanity he's clinging to if they fill the room with blood.
Damon would quite happily fill the room with blood if he thought it would help. Though the logistics of that would probably be unworkable.
He licks his hand and Stefan makes a low noise like he's been punched, expression cracked at the edges when Damon slides his hand back into his jeans, and that's so much better, so much easier. Stefan's shivered out groan at the contact feels like a victory.
"You have no idea what you look like like this, wild, vicious, greedy. God, I bet you'd look so good-" Damon bites back what he wants to say, keeps his observations to himself and wonders, if his brother is allowed to grow attached to the little people here, exactly how far he'll let Damon push to keep his miserably dull life.
That maybe Stefan won't tell him to stop. No matter what he asks for. That maybe, one day, he won't even have to be blackmailed into a little brotherly affection.
He smiles against Stefan's mouth. It's soft now, so impossibly soft, and open, like he isn't even trying to be angry any more, like he's just accepting, and he's making soft, broken noises on every slow slide of Damon's hand. They're his to catch, to taste, to force back into Stefan's mouth if he wants to.
"Go on," Damon encourages. "Push into me, you know you want to."
Stefan's gasping when he doesn't even need to, making slow noises of refusal but pushing all the same, like he just can't help himself, and Damon honestly never expected him to be like this.
He tightens his hand, hears the low growl and the quick-rough shove of Stefan's hips that almost feels helpless.
Damon can't resist the urge to press closer, to dig a hand in Stefan's hair, pull his head up, make him look at him. Before he's kissing him again, slow, greedy, invasive kisses that leave the edges of Stefan's mouth wet and obscene. Too far gone to notice how much Damon is taking. But he's always been good at that. Always.
He's always had to win.
Stefan pushes in, then stills, a shameless half-gasp torn out of his throat and then he groans like Damon has shattered him.
Damon's hand still shifts, slowly, lazily, while Stefan tries to breathe, forgets he doesn't have to, and shivers through every tiny aftershock. Damon fights briefly for control while Stefan makes hoarse little noises against his cheek. Doesn't make a move, doesn't even try and kiss him again, though he wants to, wants to so fucking badly.
His brother's loosely pliant against the wall, poised between satisfaction and slow horror, and it's too tempting not to shove him off the edge.
"I think I can amuse myself elsewhere for a while," Damon whispers against Stefan's open mouth, fingers still trailing the mess left against the twitching muscle of his stomach. "Since you asked me so nicely."