fic: sorry about the blood in your mouth (damon/elena, r)
title: sorry about the blood in your mouth
characters: damon/elena
rating: r
summary: she delights in breaking his bones. he offers himself up.
author's note: set after this season, speculations for the season ending. spoilers for all aired episodes. written for abvj because she asked and I deliver. written for porn battle prompts: rough, love, pain, control, power. warnings for violence and blood.
One, Two, Three, Four, snapsnapsnap, she breaks his fingers. Kneeling above him, her own limbs intact and coiled, him laid out like an offering beneath her. He stares up at her with shining eyes. She wonders if she could break those too.
tell me that you love me more, she breaks his wrists instead. Takes her hands and encircles the girth of them, feels how still he is, cinches her fingers like a vice and crushes the bones there too. They're broken, it doesn't matter that she can see them realign themselves. It is enough that they are crooked and broken. And that they are by her touch.
Elena's so angry when it's all said and done and over.
Wind whipping at her hair and fire burning a path around them, she watches as Bonnie makes the Earth shudder with just the tips of her outstretched hands, nearly blind as she makes out her friend sending the decaying corpse like god back into the ground.
She holds the cure in her hands, a tiny little thing, and her throat's not even wet.
She crushes it before all of their eyes and lets it drip into the dirt where it belongs.
Her body follows it when a scream rips through the air and another body bows forward as skin breaks and blood pours. She doesn't think she'll ever forget his eyes as he caught her gaze.
She wonders if she'll finally die this time.
(she doesn't)
She's so angry.
Angry at everyone, angry at herself, angry that her mind is a jig-saw puzzle of pieces that don't fit, a ball of yarn that knots itself every inch over, a magicians key rings with no solution.
Elena knows she's mad at him. But she's not sure about what. Her memories slot over one another, flimsy film tape that's been exposed to the sun too long. She could be incensed because he didn't listen to her, didn't believe her, didn't know he really enough, except he did and he ignored it; or maybe because he did and he let her press herself to him and ignore it all; or maybe because he kept going for something she never wanted, something she said over and over and couldn't have made more plain even if she'd taken an ad out in the town newspaper; or maybe it's because when she looks in a mirror it's him she sees, their features mixed together into something that's just a blur; or maybemaybemaybe it's she herself.
She knows she's angry though.
Because she's Elena Gilbert and she never gets a fucking break.
Damon's quiet so Elena cracks her hand across his face.
So hard that she feels his jaw shatter and his nose splinter. It's intoxicating, the sound of bones creaking and breaking, familiar with the noise because her body's been broken so many times that some days she has to check she's not held together with tape and wires and screws. It's different with her doing the hitting, her the owner and cause of that noise. She likes it.
He still doesn't say anything, so she hits him again, and he takes it, falling to the floor like a marionette whose strings have been ripped away, his own personal form of self-flaggelation in the form of her.
Red crimson leaks from his nose, a startling color to add to the paleness of his face and the blue of his eyes.
She likes that too.
Elena folds herself over him, touches his face where it's unmarred now, but she can still feel where the bones had ground together, had turned to fine powder behind skin if only for a moment. Her knees astride his slim hips, she sinks down, takes his cock inside her where she wants him, and trails fingers over cheekbones and jawline. He flinches and she leans down to kiss him, swallowing that reaction for her own.
She can be gentle too.
But she can take, and she wants to take, wants to possess, wants to own, wants to crack him open and spill him out, make his head just as much of a mess as hers, mold him as the mirror he is of her.
Her hips make quick little movements, rocking down against him, rising and falling in a rhythm she knows and enjoys. He doesn't put his hands on her. He just watches, stares up and moves his hips to hers.
There's a mark on his chest, a permanent scar that won't go away now. Made by dark things, the cut that unhinged her mind and let everything fall out and snipped her own puppet strings. She looks at it and can still hear his scream and see his wide eyes. She wishes it was hers.
Elena bares her teeth and sinks her nails into the scar till blood wells and spills over.
Her orgasm hits as her fingers split his flesh.
characters: damon/elena
rating: r
summary: she delights in breaking his bones. he offers himself up.
author's note: set after this season, speculations for the season ending. spoilers for all aired episodes. written for abvj because she asked and I deliver. written for porn battle prompts: rough, love, pain, control, power. warnings for violence and blood.
One, Two, Three, Four, snapsnapsnap, she breaks his fingers. Kneeling above him, her own limbs intact and coiled, him laid out like an offering beneath her. He stares up at her with shining eyes. She wonders if she could break those too.
tell me that you love me more, she breaks his wrists instead. Takes her hands and encircles the girth of them, feels how still he is, cinches her fingers like a vice and crushes the bones there too. They're broken, it doesn't matter that she can see them realign themselves. It is enough that they are crooked and broken. And that they are by her touch.
Elena's so angry when it's all said and done and over.
Wind whipping at her hair and fire burning a path around them, she watches as Bonnie makes the Earth shudder with just the tips of her outstretched hands, nearly blind as she makes out her friend sending the decaying corpse like god back into the ground.
She holds the cure in her hands, a tiny little thing, and her throat's not even wet.
She crushes it before all of their eyes and lets it drip into the dirt where it belongs.
Her body follows it when a scream rips through the air and another body bows forward as skin breaks and blood pours. She doesn't think she'll ever forget his eyes as he caught her gaze.
She wonders if she'll finally die this time.
(she doesn't)
She's so angry.
Angry at everyone, angry at herself, angry that her mind is a jig-saw puzzle of pieces that don't fit, a ball of yarn that knots itself every inch over, a magicians key rings with no solution.
Elena knows she's mad at him. But she's not sure about what. Her memories slot over one another, flimsy film tape that's been exposed to the sun too long. She could be incensed because he didn't listen to her, didn't believe her, didn't know he really enough, except he did and he ignored it; or maybe because he did and he let her press herself to him and ignore it all; or maybe because he kept going for something she never wanted, something she said over and over and couldn't have made more plain even if she'd taken an ad out in the town newspaper; or maybe it's because when she looks in a mirror it's him she sees, their features mixed together into something that's just a blur; or maybemaybemaybe it's she herself.
She knows she's angry though.
Because she's Elena Gilbert and she never gets a fucking break.
Damon's quiet so Elena cracks her hand across his face.
So hard that she feels his jaw shatter and his nose splinter. It's intoxicating, the sound of bones creaking and breaking, familiar with the noise because her body's been broken so many times that some days she has to check she's not held together with tape and wires and screws. It's different with her doing the hitting, her the owner and cause of that noise. She likes it.
He still doesn't say anything, so she hits him again, and he takes it, falling to the floor like a marionette whose strings have been ripped away, his own personal form of self-flaggelation in the form of her.
Red crimson leaks from his nose, a startling color to add to the paleness of his face and the blue of his eyes.
She likes that too.
Elena folds herself over him, touches his face where it's unmarred now, but she can still feel where the bones had ground together, had turned to fine powder behind skin if only for a moment. Her knees astride his slim hips, she sinks down, takes his cock inside her where she wants him, and trails fingers over cheekbones and jawline. He flinches and she leans down to kiss him, swallowing that reaction for her own.
She can be gentle too.
But she can take, and she wants to take, wants to possess, wants to own, wants to crack him open and spill him out, make his head just as much of a mess as hers, mold him as the mirror he is of her.
Her hips make quick little movements, rocking down against him, rising and falling in a rhythm she knows and enjoys. He doesn't put his hands on her. He just watches, stares up and moves his hips to hers.
There's a mark on his chest, a permanent scar that won't go away now. Made by dark things, the cut that unhinged her mind and let everything fall out and snipped her own puppet strings. She looks at it and can still hear his scream and see his wide eyes. She wishes it was hers.
Elena bares her teeth and sinks her nails into the scar till blood wells and spills over.
Her orgasm hits as her fingers split his flesh.