dead hearts everywhere
Title: dead hearts everywhere
Pairing: Stefan/Rebekah
Warnings: Sex. Angst. Blood.
Prompt: I don't care for daylight; that only means it's over, and I'm not in the mood for that. For smc_27 at stainofmylove's prompt meme.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: This is for the darkship table prompt wait your turn.
It's a sick sort of fascination that makes her watch even after all these years. He is methodical even in the midst of his blood lust, the motions careful and calculated and still entirely outside of his control.
Sometimes it's rather disgusting, torn flesh and entrails and blood everywhere, but Rebekah watches even then.
(She can't not.)
--
She can always tell the moment that Stefan comes back to himself. The set of his jaw, the sharp pain in his eyes, the self-loathing shimmering in the air around him. This is just as fascinating as the gore that precedes it.
"I have to go," he says when he finishes. He crouches beside the girl he's just put back together, brushing the dark hair away from her face. He closes her eyelids gently. The lashes leave shadows on pale cheeks.
"Of course," Rebekah drawls in response. Of course.
He doesn't so much as glance at her when he leaves, stepping out into the iron gray morning.
Rebekah takes an opal ring from the dead girl's finger before leaving the blood stained apartment because it's pretty and she wants it.
(She replaces the severed extremity with care before she goes.)
--
He leaves her for weeks, months, sometimes years at a time. She has no way of knowing what he does when he's gone, and she tells herself that she doesn't care. She never asks.
(She wishes that he would just stay with her.
She wishes that someone would just stay with her.)
--
The next time she sees him, he's carrying two glasses and has a wicked gleam in his eyes that sends a thrill down her spine.
Rebekah allows him to kiss the side of her neck, his breath warm on her skin, then takes the drink he offers. "Why are you here, Stefan?"
He brushes his lips along her jaw instead of answering, kisses her mouth gently at first and then deeper. She can taste whiskey and blood on his tongue.
(He never answers. He doesn't need to.
She knows why he's here.)
--
There's blood on his hands when he touches her, his fingers slick and sure as they play along her ribs, his mouth hot on her throat. She arches into him, fingernails scoring across his back before she buries a hand in his hair, holding him close, where she wants to keep him.
"Stefan."
He kisses her mouth, deep and slow, swallowing her words and her whimpers, pressing her back into the mattress. He is methodical here too, and it is easy for Rebekah to pretend that this is more than it is for him.
He fucks her slow, murmuring her name into her skin, breaking her dead heart with every breath.
(She wakes wrapped in bloodstained sheets with sunlight streaming across her face, the pallid corpse on the floor her only company.
This is what they are now.)
--
She pins him to the cold, unforgiving concrete floor, using her superior strength in a way that she rarely employs, her body still humming with blood and gin and pleasure. Stefan arches beneath her, his eyes feral.
"Stay," she breathes, quieter than the situation calls for. It isn't intentional.
"Rebekah."
"Stay."
She kisses him again when he nods, brutal, punishing him with her mouth for making her show such weakness. She loves him. She hates it, but she loves him, and she wants him with her.
He'll leave, she knows, and probably soon.
She wishes she could hate him.
(And when he leaves, she tells herself that she does.
It is a lie.)
Pairing: Stefan/Rebekah
Warnings: Sex. Angst. Blood.
Prompt: I don't care for daylight; that only means it's over, and I'm not in the mood for that. For smc_27 at stainofmylove's prompt meme.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: This is for the darkship table prompt wait your turn.
It's a sick sort of fascination that makes her watch even after all these years. He is methodical even in the midst of his blood lust, the motions careful and calculated and still entirely outside of his control.
Sometimes it's rather disgusting, torn flesh and entrails and blood everywhere, but Rebekah watches even then.
(She can't not.)
--
She can always tell the moment that Stefan comes back to himself. The set of his jaw, the sharp pain in his eyes, the self-loathing shimmering in the air around him. This is just as fascinating as the gore that precedes it.
"I have to go," he says when he finishes. He crouches beside the girl he's just put back together, brushing the dark hair away from her face. He closes her eyelids gently. The lashes leave shadows on pale cheeks.
"Of course," Rebekah drawls in response. Of course.
He doesn't so much as glance at her when he leaves, stepping out into the iron gray morning.
Rebekah takes an opal ring from the dead girl's finger before leaving the blood stained apartment because it's pretty and she wants it.
(She replaces the severed extremity with care before she goes.)
--
He leaves her for weeks, months, sometimes years at a time. She has no way of knowing what he does when he's gone, and she tells herself that she doesn't care. She never asks.
(She wishes that he would just stay with her.
She wishes that someone would just stay with her.)
--
The next time she sees him, he's carrying two glasses and has a wicked gleam in his eyes that sends a thrill down her spine.
Rebekah allows him to kiss the side of her neck, his breath warm on her skin, then takes the drink he offers. "Why are you here, Stefan?"
He brushes his lips along her jaw instead of answering, kisses her mouth gently at first and then deeper. She can taste whiskey and blood on his tongue.
(He never answers. He doesn't need to.
She knows why he's here.)
--
There's blood on his hands when he touches her, his fingers slick and sure as they play along her ribs, his mouth hot on her throat. She arches into him, fingernails scoring across his back before she buries a hand in his hair, holding him close, where she wants to keep him.
"Stefan."
He kisses her mouth, deep and slow, swallowing her words and her whimpers, pressing her back into the mattress. He is methodical here too, and it is easy for Rebekah to pretend that this is more than it is for him.
He fucks her slow, murmuring her name into her skin, breaking her dead heart with every breath.
(She wakes wrapped in bloodstained sheets with sunlight streaming across her face, the pallid corpse on the floor her only company.
This is what they are now.)
--
She pins him to the cold, unforgiving concrete floor, using her superior strength in a way that she rarely employs, her body still humming with blood and gin and pleasure. Stefan arches beneath her, his eyes feral.
"Stay," she breathes, quieter than the situation calls for. It isn't intentional.
"Rebekah."
"Stay."
She kisses him again when he nods, brutal, punishing him with her mouth for making her show such weakness. She loves him. She hates it, but she loves him, and she wants him with her.
He'll leave, she knows, and probably soon.
She wishes she could hate him.
(And when he leaves, she tells herself that she does.
It is a lie.)