There's nothing here, but what here's mine
Written for the OTP challenge phase three at the tombofchallenge.
Warning: FLUFF. (And I don't even feel bad about it.)
Title taken from "Every you and every me" by Placebo.
*** *** ***
There’s nothing here, but what here’s mine
“I’m hungry.” His voice is whisper-soft, barely loud enough to drown out the oppressive silence of the empty house.
The warm body next to him doesn’t move, relaxed and lose with drowsiness.
“Get something to eat.” The words are a sleepy mumble, swallowed by the cushions.
“But you’re right here,” he argues, tracing an invisible line across the broad shoulder.
There’s a soft sigh. “’m not in the mood…”
He knows better, smiles at the way the back shivers slightly at his touch and repeats the caress, his hand ghosting over the warm skin, following the soft curve of the spine.
“Damon…” It’s meant to sound irritated, comes out as whiney and is followed by a groan. The face burrows into the cushions, disappearing from view.
“I’ll even get you something to drink afterwards,” he offers in a sing-song voice, knowing he won’t, he’ll be asleep faster than he can retract his fangs.
Muscles beneath his hand tense as the face reappears, is raised a fraction, sleepy eyes blinking at him from beneath disheveled hair. “If you’re going to get up for a drink, get down to the fridge and get a blood bag.”
There’s logic in those words, but he chooses to ignore it, slowly crawling up higher on the mattress to rest his chin on the shoulder closest to him.
“When was the last time you had a glass of cold milk with honey when you couldn’t sleep?” He makes it sound like the appalling thought that it is and receives a look that would almost qualify as a glare if it wasn’t interrupted by a yawn. The dark eyes twinkle with amusement, even when the voice does its best to sound indignant… and fails.
“So I’m a hot beverage now?”
He leans closer, whispering conspiratorially, “You’re also my favorite flavor… and very hot.”
This time there is laughter, then an exaggerated sigh. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
He’s won and he knows it, doesn’t fight the satisfied grin that pulls at his lips. “So I’ve been told. Repeatedly.” He slowly crawls on top of the other, nipping at a shoulder blade. “It’s all part of my charm and I don’t recall you complaining about that earlier.” He makes sure to flash his fangs at those words, grinning when the body beneath him shivers in reaction and the eyes watching him suddenly look a lot less tired. Humming softly, he starts tracing soft kisses across a shoulder…
***
He suggests wearing a turtleneck to work the next day, but he never hears a word of complaint.
Warning: FLUFF. (And I don't even feel bad about it.)
Title taken from "Every you and every me" by Placebo.
*** *** ***
There’s nothing here, but what here’s mine
“I’m hungry.” His voice is whisper-soft, barely loud enough to drown out the oppressive silence of the empty house.
The warm body next to him doesn’t move, relaxed and lose with drowsiness.
“Get something to eat.” The words are a sleepy mumble, swallowed by the cushions.
“But you’re right here,” he argues, tracing an invisible line across the broad shoulder.
There’s a soft sigh. “’m not in the mood…”
He knows better, smiles at the way the back shivers slightly at his touch and repeats the caress, his hand ghosting over the warm skin, following the soft curve of the spine.
“Damon…” It’s meant to sound irritated, comes out as whiney and is followed by a groan. The face burrows into the cushions, disappearing from view.
“I’ll even get you something to drink afterwards,” he offers in a sing-song voice, knowing he won’t, he’ll be asleep faster than he can retract his fangs.
Muscles beneath his hand tense as the face reappears, is raised a fraction, sleepy eyes blinking at him from beneath disheveled hair. “If you’re going to get up for a drink, get down to the fridge and get a blood bag.”
There’s logic in those words, but he chooses to ignore it, slowly crawling up higher on the mattress to rest his chin on the shoulder closest to him.
“When was the last time you had a glass of cold milk with honey when you couldn’t sleep?” He makes it sound like the appalling thought that it is and receives a look that would almost qualify as a glare if it wasn’t interrupted by a yawn. The dark eyes twinkle with amusement, even when the voice does its best to sound indignant… and fails.
“So I’m a hot beverage now?”
He leans closer, whispering conspiratorially, “You’re also my favorite flavor… and very hot.”
This time there is laughter, then an exaggerated sigh. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
He’s won and he knows it, doesn’t fight the satisfied grin that pulls at his lips. “So I’ve been told. Repeatedly.” He slowly crawls on top of the other, nipping at a shoulder blade. “It’s all part of my charm and I don’t recall you complaining about that earlier.” He makes sure to flash his fangs at those words, grinning when the body beneath him shivers in reaction and the eyes watching him suddenly look a lot less tired. Humming softly, he starts tracing soft kisses across a shoulder…
***
He suggests wearing a turtleneck to work the next day, but he never hears a word of complaint.