The Ties that Bind Us - Things (Fall) Apart (part 5 of 9)
Title: The Ties that Bind Us - Things (Fall) Apart (part 5 of 9)
Author: Louisa and Tamoline
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Elena/Katherine, Caroline/Elena, Caroline/Katherine, but not Caroline/Elena/Katherine. It's *still* complicated.
Spoilers - End of season 3
A little way down the line from Three's a Crowd
The relationships between Caroline, Elena and Katherine have only gotten more complicated.
But things can't go on like this.
Notes: Character study. And now the smut begins
Previous parts:
Overture: Melody Harmony Counterpoint
Main Act: Melody
Slowly, one step at a time, you and Elena kiss, caress and embrace your way across the suddenly, seemingly, vast distance to the bed. You'd probably find it easier, the distant, rational, part of your mind whispers, if either of you were willing to let the other go. But you just can't bring yourself to tear your lips from hers, to lift your hands from her body, to put even a centimetre of space between the two of you. And, from the way she's clinging to you, wrapping herself around you, neither can she.
So you stumble and stagger and, perhaps inevitably, you fall.
You fling your arms out for balance, she does the same.
You're both vampires: of course you can keep your feet. It's your human instincts that lead you astray, making you clutch for support you don't need. She stands on your foot, your fingers snag in her hair. You both yelp and try to twist away from what hurts. You clip her with a shoulder, she smacks you with an elbow. You both flail wildly. There's a tugging at your wrist, a sudden pinging sensation against your skin.
Suddenly, it's raining flower petals.
You both freeze in place.
Emotions flash through you in rapid succession: triumph (you stayed upright!), curiosity (what *was* that?), realisation.
"I'm sorry," you both say simultaneously, with identical, horrified tones.
You look at each other as the remnants of the corsage flutter slowly down around you.
And then you burst out laughing.
You giggle helplessly for a while, occasionally pointing at each other, at the petal-strewn carpet, at the snapped elastic band lying there, all forlorn. Sometimes your mirth starts to subside, but then you'll catch each other's eyes, or one of you draws breath to speak, and then you're off again. Eventually, however, the gales of hilarity simmer down.
"You should have seen your face," Elena hiccoughs, wiping a tear from her eye. "It was an absolute picture."
"You should have seen your own," you retort, smiling.
She shakes her head, her expression sobering a little as she looks at you with genuine remorse in her eyes. "I am sorry I destroyed your corsage," she says.
"I think it was a mutual effort," you reply. "So, I'm sorry for my part in the flailing."
Elena starts to speak again, and you just *know* she's going to offer to get you another one and, honestly, you don't think it would fare much better than this one and while you appreciate the thought -- you *really* appreciate the thought -- you don't know how to tell her it's not necessary without hurting her feelings and the last thing you want to do is hurt her feelings and all you want is to make her happy and so you step forward and kiss her.
You *kiss* her.
She kisses you back.
And then she pulls back a little way, looking at you with a smile on her lips and eyes shining like stars.
"Make love with me?" she asks, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
How can she look so uncertain when your answer must be written all over your face? When you've been answering the question in one form or another all evening? (All your life.)
When you were just in the middle of taking her to bed?
Doesn't she know? Can't she see how you feel?
But it's words she needs right now, and so you give her your words.
Well, one word.
"Yes."
You start to undress each other, slowly, tenderly, savouring each moment. Elena pushes your bolero jacket off your shoulders, capturing your mouth with hers as she slides the jacket down your arms and drops it onto the chair behind you. You reach for the ribbon holding her hair back, unravelling with a single tug, freeing the dark waves to swirl about her shoulders. Her wrap is next, loosed just as easily, both wrap and ribbon joining your jacket on the chair. You kiss each other, slow and easy and ripe with promise.
'This is it,' you think to yourself, wonderingly. 'This is really happening.' Butterflies of nervous anticipation start to flutter in your stomach as you finally let yourself believe that tonight, at long last, the promise is going to be fulfilled.
Tonight, you and Elena are going to make love for the first time.
You've been dancing around this for weeks, months -- two steps forwards, one step back -- ever since Elena told you that she wanted to try being more than friends. Ever since the first time she *kissed* you.
(Maybe even before that. Maybe from the moment Katherine decided to out your closely kept secret.)
There's been more kissing since, of course. Long make-out sessions on her couch, in her bedroom. Stolen, thrilling minutes knowing that someone could be spying, listening; that someone could have walked in on you at any moment. Longing. Desire. Need. Wandering hands and mussed clothing.
But this is different. This is... more.
It's the next step.
(The next step towards the end.)
(Because it always ends. They always leave, or are taken from you, and every step forward is a step towards the inevitable. But you've already made your peace with fate and you take this step with open eyes and open heart.)
(There's a long way yet before you hit the ground.)
Elena breaks the kiss, a wordless protest spilling from your lips as she pulls back, releasing you from the circle of her arms.
"Shoes," she explains, kneeling to slip the high-heels from your feet, one at a time. You can't help a small sigh of relief at finally having your soles flat on the ground -- and on thick carpet, no less. (These shoes may be fabulous, but they're hell on your feet. Talk about suffering in the name of fashion.) The sigh turns into a gasp when Elena runs her hands up your legs. "And let's get you out of these as well, while we're at it," she murmurs.
Over your calves, past your knees, onto your thighs. A brief pause, long enough for you to wonder if she's losing her nerve -- and if you are -- and then her palms are sliding over your ass, your hips; her fingers wriggling into the waistband of your tights. Slowly, so very slowly, she peels them down your legs, holding your gaze the whole time.
You can't look away from her eyes
So deep, so dark, so full.
Your breath hitches in your throat, your skin prickling as she slides the whisper-fine material over your skin. She licks her lips, the movement utterly unselfconscious and unutterably sexy. A thrill of excitement shivers down your spine.
(You love her so much.)
You want her almost more than you can bear.
You have to swallow hard before you can ease your voice around the lump in your throat. "Come back here," you whisper, holding out a hand to her. She smiles, coiling up your tights and tucking them into one of your shoes while you fight back the sudden, impatient impulse to grab the neck of her dress and drag her up so you can kiss her within an inch of her life. Or to throw her down on the carpet and ravish her right here. Either's good.
No. No, you're going to do this properly. This has to be *perfect*.
Elena's smile is oddly knowing as she takes your hand, like she knows exactly what was going through your mind. Just like...
(Sudden sense of deja vu, quickly banished.)
Moving slowly, deliberately -- despite what your instincts are all-but screaming right now -- you draw her slowly to her feet. You brush your lips across the back of her hand, chastely, then turn it over and kiss her palm, her fingers, her wrist. Ever-so-lightly, you let your teeth graze the skin just over her pulse point, thrilled beyond belief by the way she shivers, by the way she tilts her head and half-closes her eyes.
She's so open, so sensual.
Her responsiveness touches you deep inside, stoking the fire of your need.
Low, pleased noises deep in her throat as you kiss your way along her arm. A sharp gasp as you gently bite her inner elbow. A soft, breathy moan when you reach her neck.
You linger there a while, plying your lips, tongue and teeth. Gently, though; still gently. Not enough to break the skin; not even enough to mark. Just enough to make sure she feels it. Just enough to draw a reaction.
"Ah!" she gasps, as you bite down a little harder than you were intending.
You wince. "Sorry," you say, kissing the reddened area to take the sting away. She shudders against you.
"No, it's okay," she says, sounding a little breathless. "That... wasn't a pained sound. It's fine, really. Better than fine."
"I see," you murmur, hiding your surprise against her skin. Well, not surprise, not exactly. It's not like you didn't suspect -- like Katherine hasn't hinted -- that the two of them aren't as dissimilar as you sometimes like to tell yourself. But...
But.
But now isn't the time.
"So..." Elena says, laying her hand on your cheek. Tilting your face up to hers, she kisses you deeply, thoroughly, passionately, driving anything so ordered as actual thoughts out of your head for a while.
"Yes?" you reply, when you finally come up for air.
"I can't help but notice that we're not in bed yet. And we're still mostly dressed."
You smile, and if the expression looks half as hungry as you think it does, it must be making Elena feel pretty darn edible right now. "Working on it," you reassure her.
And then you jump a little as her other hand slips under the hem of your dress, stroking and squeezing your ass.
"Work faster," she orders.
"As you wish." Your voice quavers a little, but your movements are sure as -- as if of their own accord -- your hands come up to palm her breasts. Almost forgetting to breathe, you run your hands over the soft swell of them, cupping them, caressing them, stroking your thumbs over her for-some-reason prominent nipples. You watch her face as your hands move, thrilling at the way her mouth opens in an O of surprise, the way her eyes are nearly all pupil right now.
She clutches at you, fingers digging into your skin as if she's afraid that she might fall.
(You'll catch her. You'll always catch her.)
With a start, you remember that you actually had a plan beyond simply filling your hands with her breasts. (Although, that's certainly a worthy goal all by itself.) You take a half-step forwards, waiting until you're sure she's going to move with you before steering her the rest of the way to the bed. Regretfully releasing her breasts -- she makes a soft, disappointed sound -- you ease her down so that she's sitting on the edge of the mattress.
"Well, one of us is on the bed," Elena observes. An odd expression flits across her face for a moment, but it melts away before you can ask her what she's thinking.
You smile, sinking to your knees in front of her. "Shoes," you murmur. You lift one of her long, toned legs, running your hands down the length of it, from the hem of her dress to the strap of her sandal, sliding the shoe off and setting it to one side. You stroke her sole with your nails lightly before letting it drop to the floor, repeating the process with her other leg.
Elena seems to appreciate your attention to detail.
When both of her feet are unshod, she surprises you by standing up again, wearing an expression that somehow manages to be both sinfully wicked and adorably uncertain as she lifts the hem of her dress to reveal...
"Oh, Elena," you breathe.
Unexpectedly, thrillingly, she's wearing, not tights, but stockings and suspenders. You're not sure precisely why the sight of them seems to shortcircuit your mind, to bypass thought and go straight for your gut (well, lower), but it does.
"Do you like them?" she asks, looking a little unsure of herself. "She said you would, but..."
She?
No, you're not going to ask a question you already know the answer to. You're not going to ask how much of this date was Katherine's idea, Katherine's plan, Katherine's...
No.
Elena is here because she wants to be here. You *know* this.
You know this.
So you swallow your pride and smile up at Elena, letting your eyes show your appreciation, your pleasure, your desire.
(And absolutely nothing of the conflict that's bubbling beneath the surface. Because maintaining a facade is something you absolutely know how to do.)
(It's the only thing you're really good at.)
"I love them," you say. You briefly think about asking her to leave them on, at least for the moment, but then you're hit by the overwhelming need to feel her skin against yours, to have nothing between the two of you but each other. You let that need shape your expression as you reach for her, saying: "Now let's get you out of them."
Of course, it isn't that simple.
You struggle with the unexpectedly tricky fastenings, excitement briefly overridden by frustration. It's like finding a much-longed-for Christmas present unexpectedly difficult to get into. All that build up, all that anticipation, and then... stymied at the last.
Not that you ever had anything as glorious as Elena under your tree, but still.
"Do you want me to undo them?" she asks, amusement -- and perhaps a touch of her own frustration -- in her voice.
"No, I've got it," you reply, forcing yourself to be patient with the recalcitrant garment despite your sudden urge to just rip the damn thing- "There!"
Apparently, there's a trick to it.
"Well done," she murmurs, as you skim the delicate material (real silk! vintage!) down her legs.
You flash her a triumphant grin. "I knew I had it."
She looks down at you, hunger darkening her gaze as she holds out a hand to you. "So come back here up here already."
"Well..." You pretend to think about it for a moment, enjoying the way amusement and impatience war in her eyes. Somehow, you don't think you'll ever cease to marvel at every little -- and, sometimes, not so little -- sign that she *wants* you. It's nice to feel... wanted. But when it looks like impatience is gaining the upper hand, you put your hand in hers and let her draw you to your feet. "If you insist."
She kisses you.
So simple an action: lips meeting lips. Her tongue lightly stroking yours, your teeth gently nipping at her lower lip. So easy, so natural. It's like you've been doing this forever. You want to do this forever.
(You're going to have to let her go.)
You never want to let her go.
Your hands on her body. The gentle demand of her touch in return. Kisses, slow and sweet, but with the banked fires of passion simmering beneath the surface. Soon, soon the heat of it will consume you both. But for now, you explore each other, mapping out territory both familiar and new all at the same time. You trace your fingers over her curves, her face, her lips like you're trying to learn every part of her, imprinting the feel of her on your mind. Just like she's stamped indelibly across your heart.
(Because when it's over, when whatever's between the two of you is done, these memories are all you'll have left.)
She unzips your dress and pulls it over your head in one smooth motion, then simply stands there for a long moment, staring like she's never seen you before, like she's drinking in the sight of you. Like she's just as determined to hold onto every little detail as you are. Part of you melts at that look. Part of you *burns*.
Even if you have to bite back an instinctive protest at the way the delicate material of your dress is bunching and twisting in her grip. It's just clothing, it doesn't really matter. (Like Matt says, material objects just aren't that important in the grand scheme of things.) But you really like that dress. Not to mention the fact that it was actually pretty pricey. But you don't want to spoil the mood, and so you keep your complaints to yourself.
Elena derails your runaway train of thought by reaching out and brushing a few loose strands of hair back off your face.
Such a simple gesture. Nothing she hasn't done before, even back when you were still just friends. Back before everything got so complicated. But, somehow, more than anything you've ever done -- more than anything you're about to do -- it just feels so... intimate.
It feels right.
She rests her hand lightly on your cheek, a small, almost wondering smile on her lips. Her eyes are shining with some emotion you can't identify, but which nevertheless calls to you, tugging at something deep inside. Without even thinking about it, you take a step towards her, closing your hand over hers and turning your head slightly to touch your lips to her palm. She sighs softly.
Another step brings you together. Somehow, your fingers have become intertwined, your joined hands held between you like a talisman. It feels almost like the world is holding its breath, like time has lost all meaning, like the two of you are all that matters.
And it's perfect.
(This moment, right here. This is the memory you'll cling to when she's moved on and left you far behind. This is the one you can point to and say: "She loved me, once.")
(And maybe that will be enough.)
You don't know who moves first, but the distance between you is suddenly nonexistent. Your bodies press together, lips seeking, finding, devouring. Your legs tangle and twine; one of yours nestling snugly between her thighs, one of hers wrapping around your waist to pull you even more tightly against her. You wobble a little before catching your balance, bracing Elena with what starts as a steadying hand on her hip but soon turns into you squeezing her ass. She moans into your mouth.
A thought is tickling at the back of your mind, but you can't... quite... And then your peripheral vision registers motion, Elena's other hand, moving as if to throw-
"Wait!"
Elena freezes. "What?" she asks, confused and more than a little breathless. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," you say, in what you hope is a reassuring tone. "Just let me...
Carefully disentangling yourself, you reach out and snag the dress that she was about to unceremoniously toss onto the floor. Enlightenment dawns in her eyes, and she lets you take it, watching silently as you shake out the creases and hang it neatly over the back of a chair. When you turn back to Elena, she's grinning from ear to ear.
You look back at her and raise an eyebrow. "What?"
Elena laughs and shakes her head. "Just you." (Sudden pang of hurt: she's *laughing* at you. But you push the thought away almost as fast as it starts to form. No, no, she's laughing *with* you. She's not being mean-spirited; you're just being over-sensitive.) "I can't believe you actually stopped in the middle of *that*" -- she gestures vaguely -- "to hang up your dress."
When she puts it like that, you suppose, it does sound a little funny.
You paint a slightly sheepish smile on your face. "I like this dress," you say, letting your voice express awareness of your own ridiculousness (even if you don't actually think you're being ridiculous right now). "I don't want it to get ruined."
"I'm not complaining," she replies, her smile softening. "One of us should probably think about these things, and I'm afraid I've slipped into bad habits lately."
She means with Katherine, of course. Katherine, whose shadow lies so deeply over you and Elena both that she might as well be right here in the room with you.
But she isn't.
She *isn't*.
This is just the two of you, and you are going to continue what you started when you left Mystic Falls all those hours ago.
This is going to be a Good Night (TM).
So you take a step towards Elena, and your smile shifts into something altogether hungrier as you reach for her, pulling her against your body and running your hands over her back.
"In that case," you murmur, finding the zipper and drawing it slowly, smoothly downwards, "we'd better get you out of this dress before it becomes an unfortunate casualty of those bad habits of yours."
"Probably a good idea," she agrees, holding up her arms obediently.
You let your fingers brush her body as you carefully lift the garment up and off, deliberately taking your time even though part of you is all-but yelling to just tear it *off* her already. You've already resolved to ignore that voice, to take it slowly and savour every moment. After all, it isn't like you have to worry about Jeremy walking in on you, or Stefan calling round unannounced to check up on Elena, or-
"Hey, where are you?"
Startled, you look up to see Elena eyeing you quizzically. "What?"
She curls an arm loosely around your waist, more comforting hug than passionate embrace. "You loooked kinda distant for a second, there. Are you okay?" Doubt shadows her features like a cloud. "Is *this* okay?" A wave of her hand takes in the two of you, the hotel room and quite probably the whole town of What's-Its-Name.
"Oh. Yes." You smile. "Yes, of course it is." You would leave it there, would say something flippant and then simply distract her, but this is *Elena*. The person (you love) you've been friends with your whole life. So you take a deep breath and try to explain. "It's just... I was just trying to convince myself that I don't actually have to keep an ear open for unexpected guests."
Elena looks relieved, smiling back at you with understanding. "I know what you mean. I'm having the same problem. I know we're safely away from the madness that is Mystic Falls, but I'm still half-expecting some of it to walk through that door any minute now." She sighs, resting her head on your shoulder. "There are just so many damn... *complications*."
"Yeah."
There doesn't seem to be anything else to say in response to her observations, so you don't try. Instead, you hang her dress safely over the back of a chair, wrap yourself around her and run your fingers through her hair.
"Mmmm," she all-but purrs, her voice a little muffled against your shoulder. "That's nice."
"It's getting long," you observe, loving the contrast of dark hair against pale skin, admiring the way the strands ripple like silk when you stroke them.
"I know," she says, her tone a little resigned. "I should probably get it cut."
"You could grow it." The words slip out without conscious thought, but when you stop to consider it... "I think it would suit you." A sudden mental image: Elena, wearing her hair down to her thighs. And nothing else. Yeah, that would totally work.
"I suppose I could," she says, sounding a little surprised.
"You wanted to, when we were kids," you remember. "At least until-"
"The Great Gum Disaster," she finishes, laughing. "I'm amazed you remember that."
"Apparently it made an impression," you say, wryly.
"Apparently so."
She draws back a little, looking at you with sparkling eyes, cheeks flushed and lips curved in a joyful smile. And you realise it all over again: she's beautiful.
Attractive.
Desirable.
Mostly naked.
Right *here*.
And she is the *only* thing that matters right now. So, although it feels like you've resolved to do this a thousand and one times tonight already, you tell yourself firmly once more that the rest of the world can just go *hang*.
From here on in, it's just you and Elena.
And that truly ginormous bed.
"I don't have to ask what *that* look means," Elena observes, her voice low and amused.
"Oh?" you reply, archly. "What does it mean?" You lean in and kiss her lightly.
"It means you want me," she murmurs against your lips.
You lower your voice to a whisper, as if imparting some great and powerful secret. "I do want you."
"Good," she says, sliding one hand up your back and curling the other gently, yet firmly, around your hip. "Because I want you, too."
"We should do something about that," you note, already starting to suit the action to the words.
"Mmmm... We should." Her hands are just as eloquent as yours.
"Elena."
"Yes, Caroline?"
"Let's go to bed."
Your lips on hers, or hers on yours. You don't know, don't care who moves first. All that matters is that you move together, to a rhythm as old as time itself.
Elena tangles her fingers in your hair, you press your hand against her back, just between her shoulder blades. She clutches your hip, you squeeze her ass. Your bodies fit together like they were meant for this, made for this. Skin to skin, aside from the few remaining barriers of cloth.
It's way past time those were gone.
You undo the clasp of her bra one-handed, leaning your upper body back just far enough to ease the garment out from between your bodies. Elena, the minx, takes advantage of the movement to nudge your legs apart with a twist of her hips, slipping her hand between, the sudden shock of *contact* arcing through your body so that you gasp into her mouth. She laughs, a low, throaty chuckle that seems to go right through your body.
"Don't worry about hanging that up," she murmurs. "It's only underwear. It'll survive."
You swallow hard. "It's pretty nice underwear," you reply, a little proud of the way your voice remains more or less level. "And it did look fabulous on you." But it's a fairly half-hearted protest, and then she starts moving her fingers, and all of a sudden you come around to her point of view.
Throwing the bra in the vague general direction of a chair, you caress her bared breasts with both hands, cupping them, stroking them, kneading them gently, playing with her nipples so that she shivers and moans. All the while, her fingers are moving, moving, *moving* between your legs, back and forth over the damp material of your panties until you start to tremble, your knees going weak.
"Hold on to me," she murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist. "I won't let you fall."
All you can do is nod helplessly, clutching her tightly as the climax ripples through you. You throw your head back, gasping, your whole body shaking. Your hands move of their own accord against her skin, fingers splayed and hooked, nails raking down her back. She inhales sharply, jerking against you, the sound and movement yanking you out of your pleasure-hazed fog to look at her with concern.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-" You bite your lip, running your hands gently, soothingly over her skin. "Did I hurt you? Was that too hard?"
She shakes her head, her eyes wide with something that looks like shock. And something else. "No. No, it was fine. It was..." She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Do it again."
A little hesitantly, you draw your nails down her back again, deliberately this time, starting at the base of her neck and ending at the waistband of her panties. She shivers a little.
"Is that nice?" you ask, fighting back memories of your nails on someone else's skin, of that someone shuddering and writhing, demanding more, deeper, harder.
"Harder," she murmurs, like an echo of the voice in your head.
You start to obey, but then pause, uncertain. Memories of someone who isn't Elena threaten to intrude once more, but you push them back behind their walls, making yourself take a deep breath before you speak.
"I don't want to hurt you," you say softly.
Elena looks at you for a long moment, her expression... conflicted. "I'm not fragile, Caroline," she points out gently.
"I know." You give her a wry smile. "But I'm not exactly a frail waif myself these days."
She snorts, kissing you lightly on the lips. "Even in the throes of passion, I doubt you'd do any real damage. And unless you're wearing vervain nail polish, I'd heal quickly enough in any case."
You're not sure which of the two of you she's trying to convince. You kiss her back while you struggle to put what you want to say into words.
"It's just... I just..." You sigh. "You don't... You don't seem all that sure you really do want 'harder'." The sudden flush in her cheeks tells you that you're not wrong, as does the way her gaze flickers away from yours, just for a moment. "And even if there isn't much likelihood of serious injury, between both of our uncertainties there's still a fairly high chance that I'll end up hurting you by accident. Then it'll be guilt and apologies, weeping and wailing, endless reassurances..." You shrug a little awkwardly. "Okay, so I'm exaggerating a little bit, but you have to admit that it would probably knock us both out of the mood, at least for a while. And even if we *do* get back into the swing of things again, all of that mess will forever be a part of this memory. The memory of our first time together. I'm not saying never, and there'll be plenty of other times to explore and figure these things out. But we'll only have one first time together, and I just don't want to spoil it."
(All of which is true, of course. But there's something you're not saying, another reason for your reluctance that you're keeping to yourself.)
(You just want it to be different with Elena.)
Belatedly, you realise you're breathing heavily. Your cheeks are probably flushed too. 'Oh my god,' you think, mortified. 'Of all the times to launch into a speech...'
You just hope that Elena doesn't think too badly of you, that you'll be able to salvage the night somehow, that you haven't just irreparably ruined things.
You start to apologise, but Elena brushes a thumb over your lips, smiling a little ruefully.
"You're right," she says, softly. "It just... surprised me, I guess. How good it felt. But I don't want to... to make you uncomfortable."
Maybe she doesn't quite get it after all. But that's okay. Her response is enough to ease your tension, to let you unwind enough to give her a genuine smile. "Let's just see what happens, okay?"
Her own smile brightens. "Okay." She kisses you softly, her hands sliding over your skin.
And, just like that, you want her again. You kiss her back hungrily, need like fire in your veins. She gasps into your mouth, meeting and matching your passion with her own. Her fingers pluck at the fastening of your bra.
"Now, where were we...?" she murmurs between kisses.
"I believe," you say, mock-thoughtfully, slipping your fingers into her panties, "that we were getting naked."
"And after that?" she asks, wriggling your bra out from between the two of you and flinging it aside.
"We were going to make love." You're startled to hear the almost reverent note in your voice, but then Elena chuckles, deep in her throat, and thought dissolves in a rush of desire.
"So what are we waiting for?" she asks.
And the only answer to that question is: nothing at all.
You slide her panties down her legs and she kicks them impatiently away, all-but dragging you back up to her level with such force that the two of you topple over, landing on the yielding firmness of the bed.
"Oops," she says, not sounding sorry in the slightest as she buries her head in your breasts. Her mouth finds one taut nipple, licking and suckling it until you arch against her, panting. One of her hands busies itself with your other breast, stroking and squeezing while her other hands wanders southwards again. You gasp as she presses her fingers between your legs, again -- in frustrated disappointment this time -- when she stops. "Forgot about those," she almost growls.
The room whirls briefly around you and then you're on your back on the bed, looking up at Elena. She grins wickedly, then lowers her mouth to yours, kissing you deeply on the lips before moving down your body to slide your panties off. She flings them carelessly behind her somewhere, but you're already moving, surging up to meet her, your lips on hers, your hands roaming the smooth, supple expanse of her skin. She leans into you, her hands pressing on your hips as she tries to guide you back down to the bed, but you resist, turning slightly and seeking out the sensitive spot just inside her hip with your fingers, lightly plying your nails on the soft skin. She gasps, the sound seemingly one of surprise as much as pleasure, and you take advantage of the moment to roll her onto her back.
"How did you know-?" she starts to ask, then shakes her head, clearly answering her own question.
You stop her mouth with kisses before she can let the word out, before that name can slip free to hang ominously in the air between the two of you. And when she kisses you back, it's like a promise, an affirmation that this night is about the two of you. The two of you and no one else.
"Your turn," you murmur against Elena's lips, slipping a hand between her thighs.
"But I want to make you feel good," she protests, starting to sit up.
"You did, you do, you are," you reassure her. (And you wonder if she really wants you to lie back and let her take the lead, or if she thinks that's what you want. But you've never played the pillow princess before, and you have no intention of doing so now. Not with Elena.)
"We don't -- ah! -- have to take turns," she pants, arching a little as you ease a finger inside her.
"True," you say, stroking her clitoris with your thumb. "But right now, I want to make you feel good." You move your hand between her legs, pressing your finger deep into the moist warmth of her, pulling back almost to her entrance, then plunging inside again. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
And then you pause. "Unless you want me to stop?"
"No!" she almost groans, her voice a little ragged around the edges. "Don't... Don't stop." She looks up at you, and when your eyes meet hers it's like you've been hit by a lightning bolt. There, beneath the need and the hunger, there's something else, something softer. This isn't just a mindless tumble for Elena.
She cares for you.
But you already knew that. Elena cares for everybody, and her friends most of all.
(Whatever this may look like to an uninformed observer, it is just friendship. That's all it is, all it can ever be.)
(And you're fine with that.)
(Even if you're not fine with that.)
Words bubble up in your throat, cluster thickly on your tongue.
(I love you.)
But this isn't a time for words, and so you choke back your words and kiss her. You move your hand between her legs, plunging into her again and again and again until she throws her head back and cries out in pleasure.
She calls out your *name*.
And your heart soars.
(Your heart tears in two, because against your will, despite your caution, despite knowing that this could never last, you realise that you've actually let yourself do the one thing you swore you never would.)
(You've let yourself hope.)
You've let yourself hope.
And the knowledge hits you with an almost physical jolt, making you reel inside as you realise: 'Things can't go on like this.'
You crash back down to earth just in time to see her eyes shining like stars.
"Wow," she breathes, smiling up at you.
Instinctively, belatedly, you slam your mask in place and smile back.
"Does the lady approve?"
"She does." She starts to say something else, but then the hint of a frown passes over her face. "Hey, are you okay?"
"Me?" You giggle, as if you find the question absurd. "Of course I am." You let your eyes shine back at her, softening your voice as you add: "Better than okay."
Elena looks at you searchingly for a moment longer, and then her expression clears. "Good," she pronounces, firmly. "Now where were we?"
Author: Louisa and Tamoline
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Elena/Katherine, Caroline/Elena, Caroline/Katherine, but not Caroline/Elena/Katherine. It's *still* complicated.
Spoilers - End of season 3
A little way down the line from Three's a Crowd
The relationships between Caroline, Elena and Katherine have only gotten more complicated.
But things can't go on like this.
Notes: Character study. And now the smut begins
Previous parts:
Overture: Melody Harmony Counterpoint
Main Act: Melody
Slowly, one step at a time, you and Elena kiss, caress and embrace your way across the suddenly, seemingly, vast distance to the bed. You'd probably find it easier, the distant, rational, part of your mind whispers, if either of you were willing to let the other go. But you just can't bring yourself to tear your lips from hers, to lift your hands from her body, to put even a centimetre of space between the two of you. And, from the way she's clinging to you, wrapping herself around you, neither can she.
So you stumble and stagger and, perhaps inevitably, you fall.
You fling your arms out for balance, she does the same.
You're both vampires: of course you can keep your feet. It's your human instincts that lead you astray, making you clutch for support you don't need. She stands on your foot, your fingers snag in her hair. You both yelp and try to twist away from what hurts. You clip her with a shoulder, she smacks you with an elbow. You both flail wildly. There's a tugging at your wrist, a sudden pinging sensation against your skin.
Suddenly, it's raining flower petals.
You both freeze in place.
Emotions flash through you in rapid succession: triumph (you stayed upright!), curiosity (what *was* that?), realisation.
"I'm sorry," you both say simultaneously, with identical, horrified tones.
You look at each other as the remnants of the corsage flutter slowly down around you.
And then you burst out laughing.
You giggle helplessly for a while, occasionally pointing at each other, at the petal-strewn carpet, at the snapped elastic band lying there, all forlorn. Sometimes your mirth starts to subside, but then you'll catch each other's eyes, or one of you draws breath to speak, and then you're off again. Eventually, however, the gales of hilarity simmer down.
"You should have seen your face," Elena hiccoughs, wiping a tear from her eye. "It was an absolute picture."
"You should have seen your own," you retort, smiling.
She shakes her head, her expression sobering a little as she looks at you with genuine remorse in her eyes. "I am sorry I destroyed your corsage," she says.
"I think it was a mutual effort," you reply. "So, I'm sorry for my part in the flailing."
Elena starts to speak again, and you just *know* she's going to offer to get you another one and, honestly, you don't think it would fare much better than this one and while you appreciate the thought -- you *really* appreciate the thought -- you don't know how to tell her it's not necessary without hurting her feelings and the last thing you want to do is hurt her feelings and all you want is to make her happy and so you step forward and kiss her.
You *kiss* her.
She kisses you back.
And then she pulls back a little way, looking at you with a smile on her lips and eyes shining like stars.
"Make love with me?" she asks, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
How can she look so uncertain when your answer must be written all over your face? When you've been answering the question in one form or another all evening? (All your life.)
When you were just in the middle of taking her to bed?
Doesn't she know? Can't she see how you feel?
But it's words she needs right now, and so you give her your words.
Well, one word.
"Yes."
You start to undress each other, slowly, tenderly, savouring each moment. Elena pushes your bolero jacket off your shoulders, capturing your mouth with hers as she slides the jacket down your arms and drops it onto the chair behind you. You reach for the ribbon holding her hair back, unravelling with a single tug, freeing the dark waves to swirl about her shoulders. Her wrap is next, loosed just as easily, both wrap and ribbon joining your jacket on the chair. You kiss each other, slow and easy and ripe with promise.
'This is it,' you think to yourself, wonderingly. 'This is really happening.' Butterflies of nervous anticipation start to flutter in your stomach as you finally let yourself believe that tonight, at long last, the promise is going to be fulfilled.
Tonight, you and Elena are going to make love for the first time.
You've been dancing around this for weeks, months -- two steps forwards, one step back -- ever since Elena told you that she wanted to try being more than friends. Ever since the first time she *kissed* you.
(Maybe even before that. Maybe from the moment Katherine decided to out your closely kept secret.)
There's been more kissing since, of course. Long make-out sessions on her couch, in her bedroom. Stolen, thrilling minutes knowing that someone could be spying, listening; that someone could have walked in on you at any moment. Longing. Desire. Need. Wandering hands and mussed clothing.
But this is different. This is... more.
It's the next step.
(The next step towards the end.)
(Because it always ends. They always leave, or are taken from you, and every step forward is a step towards the inevitable. But you've already made your peace with fate and you take this step with open eyes and open heart.)
(There's a long way yet before you hit the ground.)
Elena breaks the kiss, a wordless protest spilling from your lips as she pulls back, releasing you from the circle of her arms.
"Shoes," she explains, kneeling to slip the high-heels from your feet, one at a time. You can't help a small sigh of relief at finally having your soles flat on the ground -- and on thick carpet, no less. (These shoes may be fabulous, but they're hell on your feet. Talk about suffering in the name of fashion.) The sigh turns into a gasp when Elena runs her hands up your legs. "And let's get you out of these as well, while we're at it," she murmurs.
Over your calves, past your knees, onto your thighs. A brief pause, long enough for you to wonder if she's losing her nerve -- and if you are -- and then her palms are sliding over your ass, your hips; her fingers wriggling into the waistband of your tights. Slowly, so very slowly, she peels them down your legs, holding your gaze the whole time.
You can't look away from her eyes
So deep, so dark, so full.
Your breath hitches in your throat, your skin prickling as she slides the whisper-fine material over your skin. She licks her lips, the movement utterly unselfconscious and unutterably sexy. A thrill of excitement shivers down your spine.
(You love her so much.)
You want her almost more than you can bear.
You have to swallow hard before you can ease your voice around the lump in your throat. "Come back here," you whisper, holding out a hand to her. She smiles, coiling up your tights and tucking them into one of your shoes while you fight back the sudden, impatient impulse to grab the neck of her dress and drag her up so you can kiss her within an inch of her life. Or to throw her down on the carpet and ravish her right here. Either's good.
No. No, you're going to do this properly. This has to be *perfect*.
Elena's smile is oddly knowing as she takes your hand, like she knows exactly what was going through your mind. Just like...
(Sudden sense of deja vu, quickly banished.)
Moving slowly, deliberately -- despite what your instincts are all-but screaming right now -- you draw her slowly to her feet. You brush your lips across the back of her hand, chastely, then turn it over and kiss her palm, her fingers, her wrist. Ever-so-lightly, you let your teeth graze the skin just over her pulse point, thrilled beyond belief by the way she shivers, by the way she tilts her head and half-closes her eyes.
She's so open, so sensual.
Her responsiveness touches you deep inside, stoking the fire of your need.
Low, pleased noises deep in her throat as you kiss your way along her arm. A sharp gasp as you gently bite her inner elbow. A soft, breathy moan when you reach her neck.
You linger there a while, plying your lips, tongue and teeth. Gently, though; still gently. Not enough to break the skin; not even enough to mark. Just enough to make sure she feels it. Just enough to draw a reaction.
"Ah!" she gasps, as you bite down a little harder than you were intending.
You wince. "Sorry," you say, kissing the reddened area to take the sting away. She shudders against you.
"No, it's okay," she says, sounding a little breathless. "That... wasn't a pained sound. It's fine, really. Better than fine."
"I see," you murmur, hiding your surprise against her skin. Well, not surprise, not exactly. It's not like you didn't suspect -- like Katherine hasn't hinted -- that the two of them aren't as dissimilar as you sometimes like to tell yourself. But...
But.
But now isn't the time.
"So..." Elena says, laying her hand on your cheek. Tilting your face up to hers, she kisses you deeply, thoroughly, passionately, driving anything so ordered as actual thoughts out of your head for a while.
"Yes?" you reply, when you finally come up for air.
"I can't help but notice that we're not in bed yet. And we're still mostly dressed."
You smile, and if the expression looks half as hungry as you think it does, it must be making Elena feel pretty darn edible right now. "Working on it," you reassure her.
And then you jump a little as her other hand slips under the hem of your dress, stroking and squeezing your ass.
"Work faster," she orders.
"As you wish." Your voice quavers a little, but your movements are sure as -- as if of their own accord -- your hands come up to palm her breasts. Almost forgetting to breathe, you run your hands over the soft swell of them, cupping them, caressing them, stroking your thumbs over her for-some-reason prominent nipples. You watch her face as your hands move, thrilling at the way her mouth opens in an O of surprise, the way her eyes are nearly all pupil right now.
She clutches at you, fingers digging into your skin as if she's afraid that she might fall.
(You'll catch her. You'll always catch her.)
With a start, you remember that you actually had a plan beyond simply filling your hands with her breasts. (Although, that's certainly a worthy goal all by itself.) You take a half-step forwards, waiting until you're sure she's going to move with you before steering her the rest of the way to the bed. Regretfully releasing her breasts -- she makes a soft, disappointed sound -- you ease her down so that she's sitting on the edge of the mattress.
"Well, one of us is on the bed," Elena observes. An odd expression flits across her face for a moment, but it melts away before you can ask her what she's thinking.
You smile, sinking to your knees in front of her. "Shoes," you murmur. You lift one of her long, toned legs, running your hands down the length of it, from the hem of her dress to the strap of her sandal, sliding the shoe off and setting it to one side. You stroke her sole with your nails lightly before letting it drop to the floor, repeating the process with her other leg.
Elena seems to appreciate your attention to detail.
When both of her feet are unshod, she surprises you by standing up again, wearing an expression that somehow manages to be both sinfully wicked and adorably uncertain as she lifts the hem of her dress to reveal...
"Oh, Elena," you breathe.
Unexpectedly, thrillingly, she's wearing, not tights, but stockings and suspenders. You're not sure precisely why the sight of them seems to shortcircuit your mind, to bypass thought and go straight for your gut (well, lower), but it does.
"Do you like them?" she asks, looking a little unsure of herself. "She said you would, but..."
She?
No, you're not going to ask a question you already know the answer to. You're not going to ask how much of this date was Katherine's idea, Katherine's plan, Katherine's...
No.
Elena is here because she wants to be here. You *know* this.
You know this.
So you swallow your pride and smile up at Elena, letting your eyes show your appreciation, your pleasure, your desire.
(And absolutely nothing of the conflict that's bubbling beneath the surface. Because maintaining a facade is something you absolutely know how to do.)
(It's the only thing you're really good at.)
"I love them," you say. You briefly think about asking her to leave them on, at least for the moment, but then you're hit by the overwhelming need to feel her skin against yours, to have nothing between the two of you but each other. You let that need shape your expression as you reach for her, saying: "Now let's get you out of them."
Of course, it isn't that simple.
You struggle with the unexpectedly tricky fastenings, excitement briefly overridden by frustration. It's like finding a much-longed-for Christmas present unexpectedly difficult to get into. All that build up, all that anticipation, and then... stymied at the last.
Not that you ever had anything as glorious as Elena under your tree, but still.
"Do you want me to undo them?" she asks, amusement -- and perhaps a touch of her own frustration -- in her voice.
"No, I've got it," you reply, forcing yourself to be patient with the recalcitrant garment despite your sudden urge to just rip the damn thing- "There!"
Apparently, there's a trick to it.
"Well done," she murmurs, as you skim the delicate material (real silk! vintage!) down her legs.
You flash her a triumphant grin. "I knew I had it."
She looks down at you, hunger darkening her gaze as she holds out a hand to you. "So come back here up here already."
"Well..." You pretend to think about it for a moment, enjoying the way amusement and impatience war in her eyes. Somehow, you don't think you'll ever cease to marvel at every little -- and, sometimes, not so little -- sign that she *wants* you. It's nice to feel... wanted. But when it looks like impatience is gaining the upper hand, you put your hand in hers and let her draw you to your feet. "If you insist."
She kisses you.
So simple an action: lips meeting lips. Her tongue lightly stroking yours, your teeth gently nipping at her lower lip. So easy, so natural. It's like you've been doing this forever. You want to do this forever.
(You're going to have to let her go.)
You never want to let her go.
Your hands on her body. The gentle demand of her touch in return. Kisses, slow and sweet, but with the banked fires of passion simmering beneath the surface. Soon, soon the heat of it will consume you both. But for now, you explore each other, mapping out territory both familiar and new all at the same time. You trace your fingers over her curves, her face, her lips like you're trying to learn every part of her, imprinting the feel of her on your mind. Just like she's stamped indelibly across your heart.
(Because when it's over, when whatever's between the two of you is done, these memories are all you'll have left.)
She unzips your dress and pulls it over your head in one smooth motion, then simply stands there for a long moment, staring like she's never seen you before, like she's drinking in the sight of you. Like she's just as determined to hold onto every little detail as you are. Part of you melts at that look. Part of you *burns*.
Even if you have to bite back an instinctive protest at the way the delicate material of your dress is bunching and twisting in her grip. It's just clothing, it doesn't really matter. (Like Matt says, material objects just aren't that important in the grand scheme of things.) But you really like that dress. Not to mention the fact that it was actually pretty pricey. But you don't want to spoil the mood, and so you keep your complaints to yourself.
Elena derails your runaway train of thought by reaching out and brushing a few loose strands of hair back off your face.
Such a simple gesture. Nothing she hasn't done before, even back when you were still just friends. Back before everything got so complicated. But, somehow, more than anything you've ever done -- more than anything you're about to do -- it just feels so... intimate.
It feels right.
She rests her hand lightly on your cheek, a small, almost wondering smile on her lips. Her eyes are shining with some emotion you can't identify, but which nevertheless calls to you, tugging at something deep inside. Without even thinking about it, you take a step towards her, closing your hand over hers and turning your head slightly to touch your lips to her palm. She sighs softly.
Another step brings you together. Somehow, your fingers have become intertwined, your joined hands held between you like a talisman. It feels almost like the world is holding its breath, like time has lost all meaning, like the two of you are all that matters.
And it's perfect.
(This moment, right here. This is the memory you'll cling to when she's moved on and left you far behind. This is the one you can point to and say: "She loved me, once.")
(And maybe that will be enough.)
You don't know who moves first, but the distance between you is suddenly nonexistent. Your bodies press together, lips seeking, finding, devouring. Your legs tangle and twine; one of yours nestling snugly between her thighs, one of hers wrapping around your waist to pull you even more tightly against her. You wobble a little before catching your balance, bracing Elena with what starts as a steadying hand on her hip but soon turns into you squeezing her ass. She moans into your mouth.
A thought is tickling at the back of your mind, but you can't... quite... And then your peripheral vision registers motion, Elena's other hand, moving as if to throw-
"Wait!"
Elena freezes. "What?" she asks, confused and more than a little breathless. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," you say, in what you hope is a reassuring tone. "Just let me...
Carefully disentangling yourself, you reach out and snag the dress that she was about to unceremoniously toss onto the floor. Enlightenment dawns in her eyes, and she lets you take it, watching silently as you shake out the creases and hang it neatly over the back of a chair. When you turn back to Elena, she's grinning from ear to ear.
You look back at her and raise an eyebrow. "What?"
Elena laughs and shakes her head. "Just you." (Sudden pang of hurt: she's *laughing* at you. But you push the thought away almost as fast as it starts to form. No, no, she's laughing *with* you. She's not being mean-spirited; you're just being over-sensitive.) "I can't believe you actually stopped in the middle of *that*" -- she gestures vaguely -- "to hang up your dress."
When she puts it like that, you suppose, it does sound a little funny.
You paint a slightly sheepish smile on your face. "I like this dress," you say, letting your voice express awareness of your own ridiculousness (even if you don't actually think you're being ridiculous right now). "I don't want it to get ruined."
"I'm not complaining," she replies, her smile softening. "One of us should probably think about these things, and I'm afraid I've slipped into bad habits lately."
She means with Katherine, of course. Katherine, whose shadow lies so deeply over you and Elena both that she might as well be right here in the room with you.
But she isn't.
She *isn't*.
This is just the two of you, and you are going to continue what you started when you left Mystic Falls all those hours ago.
This is going to be a Good Night (TM).
So you take a step towards Elena, and your smile shifts into something altogether hungrier as you reach for her, pulling her against your body and running your hands over her back.
"In that case," you murmur, finding the zipper and drawing it slowly, smoothly downwards, "we'd better get you out of this dress before it becomes an unfortunate casualty of those bad habits of yours."
"Probably a good idea," she agrees, holding up her arms obediently.
You let your fingers brush her body as you carefully lift the garment up and off, deliberately taking your time even though part of you is all-but yelling to just tear it *off* her already. You've already resolved to ignore that voice, to take it slowly and savour every moment. After all, it isn't like you have to worry about Jeremy walking in on you, or Stefan calling round unannounced to check up on Elena, or-
"Hey, where are you?"
Startled, you look up to see Elena eyeing you quizzically. "What?"
She curls an arm loosely around your waist, more comforting hug than passionate embrace. "You loooked kinda distant for a second, there. Are you okay?" Doubt shadows her features like a cloud. "Is *this* okay?" A wave of her hand takes in the two of you, the hotel room and quite probably the whole town of What's-Its-Name.
"Oh. Yes." You smile. "Yes, of course it is." You would leave it there, would say something flippant and then simply distract her, but this is *Elena*. The person (you love) you've been friends with your whole life. So you take a deep breath and try to explain. "It's just... I was just trying to convince myself that I don't actually have to keep an ear open for unexpected guests."
Elena looks relieved, smiling back at you with understanding. "I know what you mean. I'm having the same problem. I know we're safely away from the madness that is Mystic Falls, but I'm still half-expecting some of it to walk through that door any minute now." She sighs, resting her head on your shoulder. "There are just so many damn... *complications*."
"Yeah."
There doesn't seem to be anything else to say in response to her observations, so you don't try. Instead, you hang her dress safely over the back of a chair, wrap yourself around her and run your fingers through her hair.
"Mmmm," she all-but purrs, her voice a little muffled against your shoulder. "That's nice."
"It's getting long," you observe, loving the contrast of dark hair against pale skin, admiring the way the strands ripple like silk when you stroke them.
"I know," she says, her tone a little resigned. "I should probably get it cut."
"You could grow it." The words slip out without conscious thought, but when you stop to consider it... "I think it would suit you." A sudden mental image: Elena, wearing her hair down to her thighs. And nothing else. Yeah, that would totally work.
"I suppose I could," she says, sounding a little surprised.
"You wanted to, when we were kids," you remember. "At least until-"
"The Great Gum Disaster," she finishes, laughing. "I'm amazed you remember that."
"Apparently it made an impression," you say, wryly.
"Apparently so."
She draws back a little, looking at you with sparkling eyes, cheeks flushed and lips curved in a joyful smile. And you realise it all over again: she's beautiful.
Attractive.
Desirable.
Mostly naked.
Right *here*.
And she is the *only* thing that matters right now. So, although it feels like you've resolved to do this a thousand and one times tonight already, you tell yourself firmly once more that the rest of the world can just go *hang*.
From here on in, it's just you and Elena.
And that truly ginormous bed.
"I don't have to ask what *that* look means," Elena observes, her voice low and amused.
"Oh?" you reply, archly. "What does it mean?" You lean in and kiss her lightly.
"It means you want me," she murmurs against your lips.
You lower your voice to a whisper, as if imparting some great and powerful secret. "I do want you."
"Good," she says, sliding one hand up your back and curling the other gently, yet firmly, around your hip. "Because I want you, too."
"We should do something about that," you note, already starting to suit the action to the words.
"Mmmm... We should." Her hands are just as eloquent as yours.
"Elena."
"Yes, Caroline?"
"Let's go to bed."
Your lips on hers, or hers on yours. You don't know, don't care who moves first. All that matters is that you move together, to a rhythm as old as time itself.
Elena tangles her fingers in your hair, you press your hand against her back, just between her shoulder blades. She clutches your hip, you squeeze her ass. Your bodies fit together like they were meant for this, made for this. Skin to skin, aside from the few remaining barriers of cloth.
It's way past time those were gone.
You undo the clasp of her bra one-handed, leaning your upper body back just far enough to ease the garment out from between your bodies. Elena, the minx, takes advantage of the movement to nudge your legs apart with a twist of her hips, slipping her hand between, the sudden shock of *contact* arcing through your body so that you gasp into her mouth. She laughs, a low, throaty chuckle that seems to go right through your body.
"Don't worry about hanging that up," she murmurs. "It's only underwear. It'll survive."
You swallow hard. "It's pretty nice underwear," you reply, a little proud of the way your voice remains more or less level. "And it did look fabulous on you." But it's a fairly half-hearted protest, and then she starts moving her fingers, and all of a sudden you come around to her point of view.
Throwing the bra in the vague general direction of a chair, you caress her bared breasts with both hands, cupping them, stroking them, kneading them gently, playing with her nipples so that she shivers and moans. All the while, her fingers are moving, moving, *moving* between your legs, back and forth over the damp material of your panties until you start to tremble, your knees going weak.
"Hold on to me," she murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist. "I won't let you fall."
All you can do is nod helplessly, clutching her tightly as the climax ripples through you. You throw your head back, gasping, your whole body shaking. Your hands move of their own accord against her skin, fingers splayed and hooked, nails raking down her back. She inhales sharply, jerking against you, the sound and movement yanking you out of your pleasure-hazed fog to look at her with concern.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-" You bite your lip, running your hands gently, soothingly over her skin. "Did I hurt you? Was that too hard?"
She shakes her head, her eyes wide with something that looks like shock. And something else. "No. No, it was fine. It was..." She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Do it again."
A little hesitantly, you draw your nails down her back again, deliberately this time, starting at the base of her neck and ending at the waistband of her panties. She shivers a little.
"Is that nice?" you ask, fighting back memories of your nails on someone else's skin, of that someone shuddering and writhing, demanding more, deeper, harder.
"Harder," she murmurs, like an echo of the voice in your head.
You start to obey, but then pause, uncertain. Memories of someone who isn't Elena threaten to intrude once more, but you push them back behind their walls, making yourself take a deep breath before you speak.
"I don't want to hurt you," you say softly.
Elena looks at you for a long moment, her expression... conflicted. "I'm not fragile, Caroline," she points out gently.
"I know." You give her a wry smile. "But I'm not exactly a frail waif myself these days."
She snorts, kissing you lightly on the lips. "Even in the throes of passion, I doubt you'd do any real damage. And unless you're wearing vervain nail polish, I'd heal quickly enough in any case."
You're not sure which of the two of you she's trying to convince. You kiss her back while you struggle to put what you want to say into words.
"It's just... I just..." You sigh. "You don't... You don't seem all that sure you really do want 'harder'." The sudden flush in her cheeks tells you that you're not wrong, as does the way her gaze flickers away from yours, just for a moment. "And even if there isn't much likelihood of serious injury, between both of our uncertainties there's still a fairly high chance that I'll end up hurting you by accident. Then it'll be guilt and apologies, weeping and wailing, endless reassurances..." You shrug a little awkwardly. "Okay, so I'm exaggerating a little bit, but you have to admit that it would probably knock us both out of the mood, at least for a while. And even if we *do* get back into the swing of things again, all of that mess will forever be a part of this memory. The memory of our first time together. I'm not saying never, and there'll be plenty of other times to explore and figure these things out. But we'll only have one first time together, and I just don't want to spoil it."
(All of which is true, of course. But there's something you're not saying, another reason for your reluctance that you're keeping to yourself.)
(You just want it to be different with Elena.)
Belatedly, you realise you're breathing heavily. Your cheeks are probably flushed too. 'Oh my god,' you think, mortified. 'Of all the times to launch into a speech...'
You just hope that Elena doesn't think too badly of you, that you'll be able to salvage the night somehow, that you haven't just irreparably ruined things.
You start to apologise, but Elena brushes a thumb over your lips, smiling a little ruefully.
"You're right," she says, softly. "It just... surprised me, I guess. How good it felt. But I don't want to... to make you uncomfortable."
Maybe she doesn't quite get it after all. But that's okay. Her response is enough to ease your tension, to let you unwind enough to give her a genuine smile. "Let's just see what happens, okay?"
Her own smile brightens. "Okay." She kisses you softly, her hands sliding over your skin.
And, just like that, you want her again. You kiss her back hungrily, need like fire in your veins. She gasps into your mouth, meeting and matching your passion with her own. Her fingers pluck at the fastening of your bra.
"Now, where were we...?" she murmurs between kisses.
"I believe," you say, mock-thoughtfully, slipping your fingers into her panties, "that we were getting naked."
"And after that?" she asks, wriggling your bra out from between the two of you and flinging it aside.
"We were going to make love." You're startled to hear the almost reverent note in your voice, but then Elena chuckles, deep in her throat, and thought dissolves in a rush of desire.
"So what are we waiting for?" she asks.
And the only answer to that question is: nothing at all.
You slide her panties down her legs and she kicks them impatiently away, all-but dragging you back up to her level with such force that the two of you topple over, landing on the yielding firmness of the bed.
"Oops," she says, not sounding sorry in the slightest as she buries her head in your breasts. Her mouth finds one taut nipple, licking and suckling it until you arch against her, panting. One of her hands busies itself with your other breast, stroking and squeezing while her other hands wanders southwards again. You gasp as she presses her fingers between your legs, again -- in frustrated disappointment this time -- when she stops. "Forgot about those," she almost growls.
The room whirls briefly around you and then you're on your back on the bed, looking up at Elena. She grins wickedly, then lowers her mouth to yours, kissing you deeply on the lips before moving down your body to slide your panties off. She flings them carelessly behind her somewhere, but you're already moving, surging up to meet her, your lips on hers, your hands roaming the smooth, supple expanse of her skin. She leans into you, her hands pressing on your hips as she tries to guide you back down to the bed, but you resist, turning slightly and seeking out the sensitive spot just inside her hip with your fingers, lightly plying your nails on the soft skin. She gasps, the sound seemingly one of surprise as much as pleasure, and you take advantage of the moment to roll her onto her back.
"How did you know-?" she starts to ask, then shakes her head, clearly answering her own question.
You stop her mouth with kisses before she can let the word out, before that name can slip free to hang ominously in the air between the two of you. And when she kisses you back, it's like a promise, an affirmation that this night is about the two of you. The two of you and no one else.
"Your turn," you murmur against Elena's lips, slipping a hand between her thighs.
"But I want to make you feel good," she protests, starting to sit up.
"You did, you do, you are," you reassure her. (And you wonder if she really wants you to lie back and let her take the lead, or if she thinks that's what you want. But you've never played the pillow princess before, and you have no intention of doing so now. Not with Elena.)
"We don't -- ah! -- have to take turns," she pants, arching a little as you ease a finger inside her.
"True," you say, stroking her clitoris with your thumb. "But right now, I want to make you feel good." You move your hand between her legs, pressing your finger deep into the moist warmth of her, pulling back almost to her entrance, then plunging inside again. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
And then you pause. "Unless you want me to stop?"
"No!" she almost groans, her voice a little ragged around the edges. "Don't... Don't stop." She looks up at you, and when your eyes meet hers it's like you've been hit by a lightning bolt. There, beneath the need and the hunger, there's something else, something softer. This isn't just a mindless tumble for Elena.
She cares for you.
But you already knew that. Elena cares for everybody, and her friends most of all.
(Whatever this may look like to an uninformed observer, it is just friendship. That's all it is, all it can ever be.)
(And you're fine with that.)
(Even if you're not fine with that.)
Words bubble up in your throat, cluster thickly on your tongue.
(I love you.)
But this isn't a time for words, and so you choke back your words and kiss her. You move your hand between her legs, plunging into her again and again and again until she throws her head back and cries out in pleasure.
She calls out your *name*.
And your heart soars.
(Your heart tears in two, because against your will, despite your caution, despite knowing that this could never last, you realise that you've actually let yourself do the one thing you swore you never would.)
(You've let yourself hope.)
You've let yourself hope.
And the knowledge hits you with an almost physical jolt, making you reel inside as you realise: 'Things can't go on like this.'
You crash back down to earth just in time to see her eyes shining like stars.
"Wow," she breathes, smiling up at you.
Instinctively, belatedly, you slam your mask in place and smile back.
"Does the lady approve?"
"She does." She starts to say something else, but then the hint of a frown passes over her face. "Hey, are you okay?"
"Me?" You giggle, as if you find the question absurd. "Of course I am." You let your eyes shine back at her, softening your voice as you add: "Better than okay."
Elena looks at you searchingly for a moment longer, and then her expression clears. "Good," she pronounces, firmly. "Now where were we?"