Fanfiction: Mi casa es tu casa (Teen Wolf/The Vampire Diaries)
Title: "mi casa es tu casa”
Status: OneShot
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries, Teen Wolf
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Damon Salvatore/Derek Hale
Disclaimer: Copyright @ CW, LJ Smith, Jeff Davies and MTV.
Rating: T
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Timeline, slash, established relationship, friendship, family, crossover, character introspection
Warnings: language
Summary: Fed up with all the drama in Mystic Falls Damon pays Derek a visit. They don't do much talking, but blood sucking and brooding happens...
AN: Be warned, I'm playing fast and loose with the timeline and canon of both shows.
mi casa es tu casa
It is the look in Damon's eyes that makes him stop, their color one shade lighter than fear. Derek releases pale skin and flesh caught between his teeth, licking soothingly. Taut muscles quiver underneath his touch, his hands free to explore the cool body trapped under his.
Derek could never forget that a werewolf bite is fatal to vampires, would never allow himself to go too far, even though he wants to scratch and sink his teeth in, draw blood and taste it. Mark Damon as his, half-truth, half-lie.
Anyone else would have been fair game, but not Damon, who laughs, excited and reckless, as if he is above feelings, as if they are too mundane and human. Maybe they both feel too much and flipping a switch to shut it all down is a lie for tame pets that don't dare to be monsters.
Derek doesn't judge or question, knows better than to try and pick at the scabs that hold the vampire's humanity together. He suspects it's the reason why Damon shows up on his doorstep whenever he needs a break from Mystic Falls.
This night they were gentle, playful nips and licks, hot and cold seeping into each other, heady and dangerous, slow drawn-out thrusts instead of wild rutting. Perhaps tomorrow they will fuck, be rough, forget to handle with care, because life's a bitch and violence is how they deal.
Another thing they have in common: the universe is out to get them, or maybe they manage to fuck things up all by themselves. Doesn't mean it hurts less. The past is repeating itself, over and over again, and Derek is not the immortal one in this rumpled bed.
The blankets have spilled on the laminate floor, their clothes lie scattered from the door like breadcrumbs in case they get lost on the way; leather jackets, shoes, socks, jeans, a few drops of rainwater. The sheets are damp and stained, making Derek's skin itch, and Damon smells of him; his spend cock twitches.
As a kid Derek had wondered how it would feel, drifting through life with only the tenuous bond to a brother that hates you, enfolded as he himself had been in the warmth of his pack. Safe and loved. Invincible. Special. Full of pity for Uncle Damon who Mum had brought home like a stray.
Now he knows, nursing the pain of a past that threatens to pull him under, all the while trying to move on and rebuild.
He leaves more teeth marks, never breaking skin, alpha-instinct placated with posturing, and this time Damon snarls, baring his fangs, black creeping along the veins to fill his eyes. Derek doesn’t call him out on it, that hint of fear within the thrill, just like Damon knows not to touch certain topics despite his taste for cruelty; his sharp tongue.
Derek is distracted, brooding too much, and Damon is strong and never above using an advantage. He slips away with a twist and the speed of something primal, and pins Derek to the mattress. His smell is even stronger now, disgusting, dead meat, unnatural, vampire, bourbon and sated arousal. Familiar.
Derek could lose himself in this. Sex with Damon is insane but safe, two equals coming together that should rip each other apart on sight; this isn't convenient, better yet, it's mutual. He can have this, they both can. But Derek can't allow himself to just let go, not even here, and this is something his new pack needs to learn too, and soon.
“Stop that,” Damon says, close enough that their noses touch, blue eyes narrowed. His grip around Derek's wrists tightens then loosens into a kiss that doesn't linger, canines tugging on his lower lip in warning. “Stop scowling.”
“I'm not,” Derek insists; it is an ongoing argument that started well before his first day at school.
Damon rolls his eyes and is off the bed in a blink. He moves naked through the apartment as if he owns the place. He's a sight and knows it, bending down to retrieve his jeans, fishing them out of the gap between two stacks of moving boxes. Derek really needs to start unpacking.
“That Stilinski kid is right. You are a sour wolf.”
“Don't use that name in my bedroom,” Derek states flatly and scowls at the ceiling.
“You like that kid. Puny little resourceful human, still alive and kicking. Remember the last time he got an eyeful of us having awesome sex on the floor?” Damon asks with a wink and slips into his jeans. “Never saw anyone run so fast.”
Derek pulls the pillow over his face and tries hard to forget the whole incident, especially Damon laughing his ass off and Stiles' scandalized look. Erica had loved it and pulled out her cell, only to be dragged away by Scott. Teenagers.
“He's useful.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Derek tracks Damon's advance through the apartment by ear, down the carpeted corridor, turning right into the kitchen. The lights in the fridge hum on and bottles clink together, the crisper scrapes over metal as it is pulled out. He loses focus for a second, picking up the heartbeats of pedestrians, the screech of tires, the caw of a raven, the coffee grinder in the diner down the street.
Damon strolls back into the bedroom holding a blood bag, fingers gleaming with condensed water, sipping from a straw. He's not at all enthusiastic about it, but Talia laid down some ground rules he still honors: as long as Damon stays in Beacon Hills, he'll exercise caution and refrains from hunting. No feeding, not even on 'annoying, low-life tourists no one will miss anyway.'
“This tastes vile,” Damon says with a shudder but he keeps on sucking until the bag is flat and crinkled. “Stale.”
“Better than squirrel.”
“Don't remind me. Next time you want to bring me a gift, make it a busty blonde, wolf boy.”
Derek throws the pillow at him, not surprised when it sails right back. Super strength, speed, reflexes and senses, all superior to werwolves. It rankles a bit. Derek thinks it's a waste of talent considering that vampires are more likely to seduce than hunt their prey.
Still, the memory tugs at the corners of his lips. “I was seven.”
“Fun times,” Damon comments non-committally and throws the empty bag into the bin. He licks a drop of red from his lips. “Are your kids coming by later?”
“Yes, though whether they are mine or not is debatable.”
It's the wrong thing to say. Vampires can't be read, their heartbeats too sluggish to give a lie away and their emotions a void, but Damon never bothers to make a secret out of his disapproval, impatience or boredom. Those emotions are usually written all over his expressive face.
“Then make them your own,” Damon growls, suddenly leaning close and right in Derek's face. “You hand-picked the most fucked up kids you could find in this backwater. Deal with it.”
Derek growls right back, but its an empty gesture lacking heat. He doesn't need Damon to rub in how badly he has messed up these past months, but they rarely bother to mince words.
“Yes, sir.”
Damon sighs and his fierce expression softens. “We had this discussion last time. I'm so not gonna do it all over again.”
“Right.”
Whatever Damon sees in his face is worth another kiss, this one tasting like spoiled blood and it's so gentle and light that it hurts. It's the right kind of pain, coming with trust and familiarity, and maybe that really only makes sense in Derek's own head.
“I know it's tough. But you'll get there, Derek, you'll have your own pack. Give it more time. Those kids have a lot of shit to deal with,” Damon mutters against Derek's lips. “And look at the bright the side - they are cute puppies.”
Derek snorts and, when Damon starts to pick up the rest of his clothes, rolls over to the edge of the bed, head pillowed on his folded arms, watching. It's Sunday, he can afford to be lazy for - another three hours.
“Gonna leave?”
“Yup. Before Katherine gets my little brother killed. Or Stefan kills himself trying to protect Elena. Or Elena cuts a deal with the devil to save dear Stefan, only for Katherine or Klaus to kill them both,” Damon scoffs while buttoning up his shirt. “Honestly, I'm starting to lose track of all these heroic deeds.”
“If you ever need help -”
“I know where to find you.” Damon nods and shrugs into his leather jacket. “See ya, Derek. Chin up! Be safe and keep smiling.”
Derek rolls his eyes and gives him a halfhearted salute. “Yes, Uncle Damon.”
The door falls shuts. Derek fumbles for the blanket and covers himself, ready to sleep some more, but he doesn't until he hears a car driving away, rock music blasting from the radio.
Derek doesn't mind that Damon crashes in and out of his life as he pleases. In fact, it's something to look forward to.
The End
Status: OneShot
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries, Teen Wolf
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Damon Salvatore/Derek Hale
Disclaimer: Copyright @ CW, LJ Smith, Jeff Davies and MTV.
Rating: T
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Timeline, slash, established relationship, friendship, family, crossover, character introspection
Warnings: language
Summary: Fed up with all the drama in Mystic Falls Damon pays Derek a visit. They don't do much talking, but blood sucking and brooding happens...
AN: Be warned, I'm playing fast and loose with the timeline and canon of both shows.
mi casa es tu casa
It is the look in Damon's eyes that makes him stop, their color one shade lighter than fear. Derek releases pale skin and flesh caught between his teeth, licking soothingly. Taut muscles quiver underneath his touch, his hands free to explore the cool body trapped under his.
Derek could never forget that a werewolf bite is fatal to vampires, would never allow himself to go too far, even though he wants to scratch and sink his teeth in, draw blood and taste it. Mark Damon as his, half-truth, half-lie.
Anyone else would have been fair game, but not Damon, who laughs, excited and reckless, as if he is above feelings, as if they are too mundane and human. Maybe they both feel too much and flipping a switch to shut it all down is a lie for tame pets that don't dare to be monsters.
Derek doesn't judge or question, knows better than to try and pick at the scabs that hold the vampire's humanity together. He suspects it's the reason why Damon shows up on his doorstep whenever he needs a break from Mystic Falls.
This night they were gentle, playful nips and licks, hot and cold seeping into each other, heady and dangerous, slow drawn-out thrusts instead of wild rutting. Perhaps tomorrow they will fuck, be rough, forget to handle with care, because life's a bitch and violence is how they deal.
Another thing they have in common: the universe is out to get them, or maybe they manage to fuck things up all by themselves. Doesn't mean it hurts less. The past is repeating itself, over and over again, and Derek is not the immortal one in this rumpled bed.
The blankets have spilled on the laminate floor, their clothes lie scattered from the door like breadcrumbs in case they get lost on the way; leather jackets, shoes, socks, jeans, a few drops of rainwater. The sheets are damp and stained, making Derek's skin itch, and Damon smells of him; his spend cock twitches.
As a kid Derek had wondered how it would feel, drifting through life with only the tenuous bond to a brother that hates you, enfolded as he himself had been in the warmth of his pack. Safe and loved. Invincible. Special. Full of pity for Uncle Damon who Mum had brought home like a stray.
Now he knows, nursing the pain of a past that threatens to pull him under, all the while trying to move on and rebuild.
He leaves more teeth marks, never breaking skin, alpha-instinct placated with posturing, and this time Damon snarls, baring his fangs, black creeping along the veins to fill his eyes. Derek doesn’t call him out on it, that hint of fear within the thrill, just like Damon knows not to touch certain topics despite his taste for cruelty; his sharp tongue.
Derek is distracted, brooding too much, and Damon is strong and never above using an advantage. He slips away with a twist and the speed of something primal, and pins Derek to the mattress. His smell is even stronger now, disgusting, dead meat, unnatural, vampire, bourbon and sated arousal. Familiar.
Derek could lose himself in this. Sex with Damon is insane but safe, two equals coming together that should rip each other apart on sight; this isn't convenient, better yet, it's mutual. He can have this, they both can. But Derek can't allow himself to just let go, not even here, and this is something his new pack needs to learn too, and soon.
“Stop that,” Damon says, close enough that their noses touch, blue eyes narrowed. His grip around Derek's wrists tightens then loosens into a kiss that doesn't linger, canines tugging on his lower lip in warning. “Stop scowling.”
“I'm not,” Derek insists; it is an ongoing argument that started well before his first day at school.
Damon rolls his eyes and is off the bed in a blink. He moves naked through the apartment as if he owns the place. He's a sight and knows it, bending down to retrieve his jeans, fishing them out of the gap between two stacks of moving boxes. Derek really needs to start unpacking.
“That Stilinski kid is right. You are a sour wolf.”
“Don't use that name in my bedroom,” Derek states flatly and scowls at the ceiling.
“You like that kid. Puny little resourceful human, still alive and kicking. Remember the last time he got an eyeful of us having awesome sex on the floor?” Damon asks with a wink and slips into his jeans. “Never saw anyone run so fast.”
Derek pulls the pillow over his face and tries hard to forget the whole incident, especially Damon laughing his ass off and Stiles' scandalized look. Erica had loved it and pulled out her cell, only to be dragged away by Scott. Teenagers.
“He's useful.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Derek tracks Damon's advance through the apartment by ear, down the carpeted corridor, turning right into the kitchen. The lights in the fridge hum on and bottles clink together, the crisper scrapes over metal as it is pulled out. He loses focus for a second, picking up the heartbeats of pedestrians, the screech of tires, the caw of a raven, the coffee grinder in the diner down the street.
Damon strolls back into the bedroom holding a blood bag, fingers gleaming with condensed water, sipping from a straw. He's not at all enthusiastic about it, but Talia laid down some ground rules he still honors: as long as Damon stays in Beacon Hills, he'll exercise caution and refrains from hunting. No feeding, not even on 'annoying, low-life tourists no one will miss anyway.'
“This tastes vile,” Damon says with a shudder but he keeps on sucking until the bag is flat and crinkled. “Stale.”
“Better than squirrel.”
“Don't remind me. Next time you want to bring me a gift, make it a busty blonde, wolf boy.”
Derek throws the pillow at him, not surprised when it sails right back. Super strength, speed, reflexes and senses, all superior to werwolves. It rankles a bit. Derek thinks it's a waste of talent considering that vampires are more likely to seduce than hunt their prey.
Still, the memory tugs at the corners of his lips. “I was seven.”
“Fun times,” Damon comments non-committally and throws the empty bag into the bin. He licks a drop of red from his lips. “Are your kids coming by later?”
“Yes, though whether they are mine or not is debatable.”
It's the wrong thing to say. Vampires can't be read, their heartbeats too sluggish to give a lie away and their emotions a void, but Damon never bothers to make a secret out of his disapproval, impatience or boredom. Those emotions are usually written all over his expressive face.
“Then make them your own,” Damon growls, suddenly leaning close and right in Derek's face. “You hand-picked the most fucked up kids you could find in this backwater. Deal with it.”
Derek growls right back, but its an empty gesture lacking heat. He doesn't need Damon to rub in how badly he has messed up these past months, but they rarely bother to mince words.
“Yes, sir.”
Damon sighs and his fierce expression softens. “We had this discussion last time. I'm so not gonna do it all over again.”
“Right.”
Whatever Damon sees in his face is worth another kiss, this one tasting like spoiled blood and it's so gentle and light that it hurts. It's the right kind of pain, coming with trust and familiarity, and maybe that really only makes sense in Derek's own head.
“I know it's tough. But you'll get there, Derek, you'll have your own pack. Give it more time. Those kids have a lot of shit to deal with,” Damon mutters against Derek's lips. “And look at the bright the side - they are cute puppies.”
Derek snorts and, when Damon starts to pick up the rest of his clothes, rolls over to the edge of the bed, head pillowed on his folded arms, watching. It's Sunday, he can afford to be lazy for - another three hours.
“Gonna leave?”
“Yup. Before Katherine gets my little brother killed. Or Stefan kills himself trying to protect Elena. Or Elena cuts a deal with the devil to save dear Stefan, only for Katherine or Klaus to kill them both,” Damon scoffs while buttoning up his shirt. “Honestly, I'm starting to lose track of all these heroic deeds.”
“If you ever need help -”
“I know where to find you.” Damon nods and shrugs into his leather jacket. “See ya, Derek. Chin up! Be safe and keep smiling.”
Derek rolls his eyes and gives him a halfhearted salute. “Yes, Uncle Damon.”
The door falls shuts. Derek fumbles for the blanket and covers himself, ready to sleep some more, but he doesn't until he hears a car driving away, rock music blasting from the radio.
Derek doesn't mind that Damon crashes in and out of his life as he pleases. In fact, it's something to look forward to.
The End