Fic: Fumbling Towards Ecstasy (2/5)
Title: Fumbling Towards Ecstasy (2/5)
Author: lit_chick08
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Stefan/Elena/Damon, Caroline/Tyler, references Stefan/Katherine/Damon
Category: drama, romance, character study
Summary: Elena never wanted to have to choose; Stefan and Damon weren't sure they wanted her to pick
Spoilers: This is an alternate Season 2, so I’ve cherry picked certain events/episodes; just to be safe, everything that has aired so far
Warnings: bloodplay, double penetration, voyeurism, threesome
Show/Bookverse: Show
Disclaimer: These characters belong to LJ Smith, Kevin Williamson, and Julie Plec
For the next three weeks, they didn’t mention it. In fact, Elena had almost convinced herself that what happened in the Lockwoods’ pond that night was nothing more than a pot-induced fever dream until fingerprint bruises blossomed on her hips, a reminder of Damon’s strength. Until they faded, she would stand in front of the mirror in her bathroom, matching her own fingers up to where her boyfriend’s brother had gripped her. She was tempted to ask Stefan what he felt, if he was angry, but she had no idea how to begin to broach that conversation. Instead, she continued to pretend that nothing had happened until they said something. And when neither brother did, Elena was certain that they had both chalked it up to her drunkenness, thought she was embarrassed, and were prepared to never mention it again.
Except that now she couldn’t bring herself to be with Stefan in the Boardinghouse. For the first time since their relationship had started, Elena realized that Damon could probably hear everything they did when sequestered in Stefan’s room, and it just seemed too…mean to fool around with Stefan after she had kissed Damon the way that she had. She began to avoid the Boardinghouse at all costs, coming up with excuses for why she couldn’t come over or why she suddenly wasn’t allowed to spend the night. Stefan said that he understood, but she could see the hurt in his eyes when she’d evade.
The first time that they made love after the Incident, as she had taken to calling it, they were in her bedroom, music playing so that Jeremy would not overhear anything that would scar him for life. Stefan undressed her slowly, pressing kisses on every inch of skin he revealed, lingering over the yellowed skin of her hips; Elena twisted and moaned, loving the slow slide of his body over hers - inside of hers - and when she came and Stefan whispered, “Oh, I love you so much, Elena,” she felt her eyes fill with tears.
Afterward, as they lied entangled in her sheets, Stefan lazily stroking her hair, Elena felt it bubbling up inside her, knew that she couldn’t keep it in any longer. Before she had even consciously made the decision, she murmured, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For the pond.”
It hung heavy in the air, filling the room, and Elena barely managed to keep from fleeing the bed and hiding away until everything was okay again. And then Stefan sighed and said, “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Stefan - “
“We took advantage of you, Elena,” he firmly interrupted. “You weren’t yourself that night and we knew that. What we did to you - “
“You didn’t take advantage of me,” she argued, pushing her up into a seated position, wrapping herself up in the sheets. Grasping for words that she wasn’t sure she had ever wanted to say aloud, she continued, “I knew what I was doing. I mean, I was out of it, yeah, but you didn’t force me to do anything.”
“I never wanted you to see me like that,” he confessed, looking away. “You deserve better than that.”
“Than what?”
“Than to be…For you to be…” Elena watched him struggle to find the words, watched him twist and trip towards an explanation before finally settling on, “I don’t want you to feel as if you have to fix us.”
“Fix you?”
“I know that you care about Damon. And I love that you do,” he quickly assured her as she opened her mouth to explain, “because no one other than me has cared about Damon in 150 years. And no matter how much he’ll deny it, Damon cares about you too. But I don’t ever want you to think that you have to…that to keep the peace…”
“I don’t think I have to sleep with Damon, Stefan. That thought has never even crossed my mind.” As Stefan blushed, Elena softly explained, “Ever since that tomb opened, since Katherine came back, everything’s been so doom and gloom. I just wanted to have fun that night and…And it was really nice to see you and Damon not hate each other. As for everything else that happened…” Elena sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s overwhelming sometimes.”
“What is?”
“How much you love me. The way Damon looks at me. How close we always seem to be to everything going to hell.” Staring at the pattern on her comforter, she finally admitted, “I just wanted to feel good.”
Stefan nodded, pulling her back against him again, settling in for the night. She wondered if he would tell Damon about the conversation; she wasn’t sure what she hoped the answer was.
* * *
Damon never brought it up. He didn’t coat his words with innuendo or make crude comments about her body; he didn’t invade her personal space or sneak up behind her. In fact, Damon interacted very little with her unless it was related directly to Katherine or werewolves or the goddamn moonstone.
It wasn’t until Damon started actively removing himself from her life that Elena realized just how large of a role he had been playing in it.
She was curled up on the porch, her journal open on her lap, trying to figure out how she could possibly begin to quantify all that she was feeling, when she heard the footfalls on the steps. When she saw that it was Damon, she resisted the urge to immediately ask him why he was there, why he refused to do so much as look at her for the past month; Damon had never reacted well to ambush.
“Hey,” she offered lamely instead, closing her journal.
Damon froze in place for a moment, his fight or flight instinct dancing across his face, before he nodded crisply. “Hey. Is Alaric here?”
“What?”
“Is Alaric - “
“I heard you, Damon!” Getting to her feet, she resisted the urge to smack him with her journal. As gratifying as it would be, she knew that, while it wouldn’t hurt him, beating her boyfriend’s brother on the front porch in broad daylight would definitely set the Mystic Falls gossip mill grinding.
“No, he’s not here. He went with Jenna to Richmond; they won’t be back until tomorrow. Anything else I can do for you?”
Confusion creased Damon’s brow. “How have I managed to piss you off in less than five words?”
“You haven’t pissed me off. You haven’t done anything. You’re nothing to me, Damon; you’ve made sure of that.” Swinging open the door, clutching the doorknob tightly, she gritted out, “I’ll tell Alaric you’re looking for him,” before going inside, slamming the door with more fury than she even knew she was feeling.
The door had barely closed before Damon was entering the house, anger blazing in his eyes. Elena jumped at the sound of the door slamming twice in less than 10 seconds and, when Damon purposefully stepped in her path, she wondered if she should be afraid.
“What the hell is your problem?” he growled.
“No problem,” she bit out. “You’re the one with the problem.”
“I have no idea what the fuck you are talking about, but I didn’t do shit to you, Elena. Maybe this kind of bullshit works with Stefan - “
“This has nothing to do with Stefan!”
“Then what is it about? I’ve barely seen you in a month!”
“Right!” Elena turned away, cursing the tears that were rising in her throat, wishing that she was able to play as unaffected as he had been in the past. Pushing past him, she walked around the island in the kitchen, trying to find something to keep her hands busy, something to focus on that wasn’t Damon Salvatore.
Damon followed her, anger and confusion warring for dominance on his face, watching as she started the process to make tea. “Elena, I have no idea what’s going on and I don’t speak Gossip Girl, so why don’t you save us both a lot of time and effort and just tell me what the hell’s going on?”
Elena jerked the faucet on, trying desperately not to let him notice that her hands were shaking. “Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?”
“Elena - “
“I thought we were friends, Damon,” she continued, slamming the kettle onto the stove, willing herself not to look at him and risk losing her anger. “I thought that…we had reached some sort of understanding, but I guess I was wrong.”
She felt him at her back, invading her space for the first time in a month, and she forced herself not to lean into it, to not take comfort in Damon’s lack of boundaries.
“What do you want from me, Elena?” he breathed against her ear, his voice overflowing with emotion. “Do you even know? Or is this a Petrova gene, testing out both of us before you make a choice?”
Elena whirled around so quickly that she nearly lost her balance, a fact made all the worse by the fact that her tears had made their long overdue appearance, sliding down her cheeks so quickly she just knew that he was going to mock her for her weakness.
“That’s what you think of me? After everything, you think I’m just another Katherine? Fuck you, Damon.”
She tried to push him, pressing her hands against the planes of his chest and heaving as hard as she could, a move that was beyond ineffectual. When she tried again, Damon easily caught her wrists, moving her away from the stove and pressing her against the refrigerator. Elena resented being tossed around like a doll, reminded of just how weak she was when push came to literal shove.
Damon glared at her, pinning her in place with the wealth of feelings in the eyes that haunted her dreams. Elena matched his expression, wishing that her cheeks weren’t wet with tears, wishing in that moment that she was like Katherine, immovable to the Salvatores and unaffected by the feelings of others.
“I’m not going through this again,” he growled.
“I’m not her, Damon,” she murmured, the fight going out of her, suddenly so very tired.
She was unprepared for his kiss, at the edge of desperation to his mouth against hers. Elena clung to him, mauling his mouth, trying to give as good as she got, moaning when he moved to her throat and his hands danced down her torso, sketching the shape of her. She wasn’t sure when or how they moved, but she was suddenly on the kitchen table, her legs wrapping around Damon’s hips as if they had been made just for this. He thrust against her center, the needy twist of her hips corkscrewing in a desperation that Elena hadn’t felt in the past seventeen years.
Eight months of foreplay tended to do that to a girl.
Damon was pulling at the button on her jeans and she was obediently lifting her hips, prepared to let Damon take her on the table she had helped her mother re-stain two summers earlier, prepared to do whatever he wanted as long as he didn’t stop touching her.
“Jesus Christ!” Jeremy shouted, immediately shielding his eyes as Damon flew backwards and Elena jumped off of the table, trying to quickly right her clothing as if that would fix what her brother had just witnessed.
“Jeremy,” Elena gasped, trying to formulate an excuse for this, trying to explain away what anyone with a brain cell could interpret for themselves.
“What the fuck, Elena?!”
It was easier to let Damon compel him to forget. She had promised Jeremy after he had found out about Vicki that she would never let him be compelled again, that she would leave him to his own mind, but this was not the same. It was of no importance to Jeremy’s life that he had seen her and Damon going at it on the kitchen table; there was no real sin here.
It was easier to move the line when more and more was at stake.
* * *
It bothered Stefan, the idea of her sleeping with Damon behind closed doors. At first it hadn’t been an issue; shortly after their near-miss on the Gilbert family table, Mason Lockwood had rolled into town, occupying more than a fair amount of both brothers’ time. Elena barely saw either of them for a few weeks, spending most of her time under Caroline’s protection (which involved a lot of manicures and ironic viewings of “True Blood”) or sitting in her room contemplating the incredible craziness of her life.
But then Mason was out of the picture (they didn’t tell her the details and she didn’t want to know so she wouldn’t have to lie to Tyler’s face) and suddenly the gravity of what she had been doing with them started to sink in, started to muddy up the waters so badly she couldn’t see the bottom.
She had gone to the Boardinghouse that Wednesday night, letting herself in rather than playing like she was a guest, navigating the cavernous hallways even in the muted light. Stefan was seated on the couch in the parlor, the fire crackling before him, and for a moment she watched the light dance across his face, just drinking in the sight of him. He was not as beautiful as Damon (though she would never say that aloud) but there was something about his features that tugged at her, that made her want to do nothing more than figure out what was hiding behind his face.
When he turned his head, a small smile playing at his lips, she slipped off her zip-up, letting it drop to the floor without a second thought. She noticed the way his eyes darkened as she shed her t-shirt, at the way he licked his lips as she shimmied out of her jeans and stalked towards him in her bra and panties. When she stood before him, reaching back to unclasp her bra, he shook his head, placing his hands on her hips and resting his forehead against her breast bone, pressing a kiss to her sternum.
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed against her skin, flicking his eyes up to look into her face.
“Bet you say that to all the doppelgangers,” she teased, tugging at his shirt, tossing it over the couch and drawing her nails (a delightful shade of Perfect Plum, courtesy of Caroline) down his chiseled chest.
Stefan chuckled for a moment before groaning as Elena straddled him, giving one slow twist of her hips against his. Cupping his face, she kissed him, pouring all of the love she had into him, her fingers twisting in his thick hair.
“Do you want me?” she whispered in his mouth, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth.
“Always,” he immediately answered before inhaling sharply as she opened his jeans, pushing them far enough down his hips to work him with her hand, using blunt teeth to scrape against his craned neck.
They had been sleeping together only a few weeks when Elena had discovered how much Stefan liked for her to be in control, to catch him off-guard by initiating something. As loving and gentle as Stefan was, he always got a little rougher, a little more demanding when she was writhing on top of him, when she was ineffectually holding him to the mattress. Elena didn’t mind being in control; lately, it was the only control she had.
She reached down, moving aside the cotton of her underwear, feeling the wet warmth of her excitement before slowly sliding down Stefan’s length, sighing at the familiar stretch of muscle to accommodate him.
It had been two weeks (two long weeks) and Elena wondered how she had ever lived without this, without him. She moved slowly and firmly atop him, arching her back, thrusting her breasts towards him as she tilted her head back, reveling in every sensation. Stefan gripped her hips, guiding her movements without attempting to change the rhythm, and he groaned as she clenched around him, corkscrewing her hips in a sudden quick burst of movement.
“Don’t mind me, kids,” Damon drawled as he entered the parlor, freezing their actions. Stefan attempted to draw her closer, as if to protect her modesty, and Elena resisted the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it.
“Damon,” Stefan bit out, the muscle in his cheek jumping with tension.
Pouring himself a glass of bourbon, Damon sank into a nearby chair, tossing his left leg over the arm, the very picture of relaxation. “Oh, pretend I’m not here. As you were.”
“Damon - “
“If you want privacy, little brother, I’d suggest not going at it in the living room,” he interrupted, taking a sip of his alcohol. Elena watched as he eyed her appreciatively, gaze lingering in a way that felt like a caress, and she couldn’t help but clench around Stefan in response, who grunted with the effort to keep from crying out.
She could see it in Stefan’s eyes, could see that he was about to pull her off, to sweep her upstairs away from where Damon could watch any kind of intimacy between them. And she knew that a few months ago, she would have been mortified at the idea of Damon watching her ride Stefan, of Damon seeing her acting so wanton.
The degree to which it now turned her on made her wonder just how much Petrova blood she had in her.
She put her hands on Stefan’s face, forcing his attention back to her; she could read the conflict in his eyes, see his human sensibilities warring with the vampire who had done things she couldn’t even imagine, and she kissed him with more aggression than she had ever used with anyone.
“We were here first,” she declared, snapping her hips and making Stefan call out her name.
Stefan was wild with her, his hands urging her down faster than she thought possible, his mouth slip-sliding across every inch of available skin, his hands tearing off her bra; Elena could barely form a thought beyond God, yes, please, more, Stefan, Stefan, Stefan.
She was drenched in sweat, her long hair starting to stick to her skin, her skin feeling 20 degrees too hot and too tight on her body. So wrapped up in the orgasm she was sprinting towards, she wasn’t even aware that Damon had moved from his place on the chair until his index and middle fingers trailed the length of her spine.
“What does she feel like, Stefan?” he inquired, his voice so loaded with lust that Elena moaned at the sound of it.
“Hot,” Stefan gasped, “tight, perfect.”
Damon gathered up her hair in one hand, lifting it off of her back so as to clear a path for his lips. Dotting kisses randomly across the unblemished canvas of her back, he continued, “What does she taste like?”
“Like the apples from the Forbes’ yard,” Stefan grunted before sealing his mouth around the nipple hovering tantalizingly near his mouth.
Through her sex-induced fog, Elena tried to remember when there had ever been apple trees in Mystic Falls. It was a thought that quickly left the moment that Damon’s fingers dipped into her sodden underwear, brushing against her clit. She moaned, trying to push more fully against Damon’s hand, and he graciously provided more pressure, his fingers pressing tight circles against her flesh. When Damon pressed down firmly, ordering her to come in a whisper, Elena could do nothing but oblige.
As she quaked and shivered around Stefan, who could not help but lose control at her muscles squeezing him so thoroughly, Damon brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking the moisture collected there. While Stefan softened and slipped from her body, Elena continued to tremble, certain that nothing had ever felt so good in her life.
“You were right,” Damon informed him, pressing a soft kiss against her shoulder.
Gathering her strength, she tilted her head backwards, brown eyes meeting blue, and she sighed his name. Damon bent gracefully, pressing his mouth against hers, the kiss shockingly chaste for someone who had just played voyeur to his brother and his (their?) girlfriend.
“You alive, little brother?” Damon teased, his eyes never leaving Elena, who slipped from Stefan’s lap, shivering as the sweat cooled on her body.
Stefan opened his eyes, glaring half-heartedly at his brother. “Shut up, Damon.”
Elena moved slowly from the couch, her muscles aching from Stefan’s enthusiasm, slipping her sweatshirt back around her before returning to her space beside Stefan, who wrapped his arm around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
After a moment, Elena finally asked, “What are we doing, guys?”
Neither of them had an answer; strangely, that made her feel a little better.
If two vampires with 300 years between them couldn’t figure it out, it was perfectly acceptable for a 17-year-old to be confused.
Part Three
Author: lit_chick08
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Stefan/Elena/Damon, Caroline/Tyler, references Stefan/Katherine/Damon
Category: drama, romance, character study
Summary: Elena never wanted to have to choose; Stefan and Damon weren't sure they wanted her to pick
Spoilers: This is an alternate Season 2, so I’ve cherry picked certain events/episodes; just to be safe, everything that has aired so far
Warnings: bloodplay, double penetration, voyeurism, threesome
Show/Bookverse: Show
Disclaimer: These characters belong to LJ Smith, Kevin Williamson, and Julie Plec
For the next three weeks, they didn’t mention it. In fact, Elena had almost convinced herself that what happened in the Lockwoods’ pond that night was nothing more than a pot-induced fever dream until fingerprint bruises blossomed on her hips, a reminder of Damon’s strength. Until they faded, she would stand in front of the mirror in her bathroom, matching her own fingers up to where her boyfriend’s brother had gripped her. She was tempted to ask Stefan what he felt, if he was angry, but she had no idea how to begin to broach that conversation. Instead, she continued to pretend that nothing had happened until they said something. And when neither brother did, Elena was certain that they had both chalked it up to her drunkenness, thought she was embarrassed, and were prepared to never mention it again.
Except that now she couldn’t bring herself to be with Stefan in the Boardinghouse. For the first time since their relationship had started, Elena realized that Damon could probably hear everything they did when sequestered in Stefan’s room, and it just seemed too…mean to fool around with Stefan after she had kissed Damon the way that she had. She began to avoid the Boardinghouse at all costs, coming up with excuses for why she couldn’t come over or why she suddenly wasn’t allowed to spend the night. Stefan said that he understood, but she could see the hurt in his eyes when she’d evade.
The first time that they made love after the Incident, as she had taken to calling it, they were in her bedroom, music playing so that Jeremy would not overhear anything that would scar him for life. Stefan undressed her slowly, pressing kisses on every inch of skin he revealed, lingering over the yellowed skin of her hips; Elena twisted and moaned, loving the slow slide of his body over hers - inside of hers - and when she came and Stefan whispered, “Oh, I love you so much, Elena,” she felt her eyes fill with tears.
Afterward, as they lied entangled in her sheets, Stefan lazily stroking her hair, Elena felt it bubbling up inside her, knew that she couldn’t keep it in any longer. Before she had even consciously made the decision, she murmured, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For the pond.”
It hung heavy in the air, filling the room, and Elena barely managed to keep from fleeing the bed and hiding away until everything was okay again. And then Stefan sighed and said, “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Stefan - “
“We took advantage of you, Elena,” he firmly interrupted. “You weren’t yourself that night and we knew that. What we did to you - “
“You didn’t take advantage of me,” she argued, pushing her up into a seated position, wrapping herself up in the sheets. Grasping for words that she wasn’t sure she had ever wanted to say aloud, she continued, “I knew what I was doing. I mean, I was out of it, yeah, but you didn’t force me to do anything.”
“I never wanted you to see me like that,” he confessed, looking away. “You deserve better than that.”
“Than what?”
“Than to be…For you to be…” Elena watched him struggle to find the words, watched him twist and trip towards an explanation before finally settling on, “I don’t want you to feel as if you have to fix us.”
“Fix you?”
“I know that you care about Damon. And I love that you do,” he quickly assured her as she opened her mouth to explain, “because no one other than me has cared about Damon in 150 years. And no matter how much he’ll deny it, Damon cares about you too. But I don’t ever want you to think that you have to…that to keep the peace…”
“I don’t think I have to sleep with Damon, Stefan. That thought has never even crossed my mind.” As Stefan blushed, Elena softly explained, “Ever since that tomb opened, since Katherine came back, everything’s been so doom and gloom. I just wanted to have fun that night and…And it was really nice to see you and Damon not hate each other. As for everything else that happened…” Elena sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s overwhelming sometimes.”
“What is?”
“How much you love me. The way Damon looks at me. How close we always seem to be to everything going to hell.” Staring at the pattern on her comforter, she finally admitted, “I just wanted to feel good.”
Stefan nodded, pulling her back against him again, settling in for the night. She wondered if he would tell Damon about the conversation; she wasn’t sure what she hoped the answer was.
* * *
Damon never brought it up. He didn’t coat his words with innuendo or make crude comments about her body; he didn’t invade her personal space or sneak up behind her. In fact, Damon interacted very little with her unless it was related directly to Katherine or werewolves or the goddamn moonstone.
It wasn’t until Damon started actively removing himself from her life that Elena realized just how large of a role he had been playing in it.
She was curled up on the porch, her journal open on her lap, trying to figure out how she could possibly begin to quantify all that she was feeling, when she heard the footfalls on the steps. When she saw that it was Damon, she resisted the urge to immediately ask him why he was there, why he refused to do so much as look at her for the past month; Damon had never reacted well to ambush.
“Hey,” she offered lamely instead, closing her journal.
Damon froze in place for a moment, his fight or flight instinct dancing across his face, before he nodded crisply. “Hey. Is Alaric here?”
“What?”
“Is Alaric - “
“I heard you, Damon!” Getting to her feet, she resisted the urge to smack him with her journal. As gratifying as it would be, she knew that, while it wouldn’t hurt him, beating her boyfriend’s brother on the front porch in broad daylight would definitely set the Mystic Falls gossip mill grinding.
“No, he’s not here. He went with Jenna to Richmond; they won’t be back until tomorrow. Anything else I can do for you?”
Confusion creased Damon’s brow. “How have I managed to piss you off in less than five words?”
“You haven’t pissed me off. You haven’t done anything. You’re nothing to me, Damon; you’ve made sure of that.” Swinging open the door, clutching the doorknob tightly, she gritted out, “I’ll tell Alaric you’re looking for him,” before going inside, slamming the door with more fury than she even knew she was feeling.
The door had barely closed before Damon was entering the house, anger blazing in his eyes. Elena jumped at the sound of the door slamming twice in less than 10 seconds and, when Damon purposefully stepped in her path, she wondered if she should be afraid.
“What the hell is your problem?” he growled.
“No problem,” she bit out. “You’re the one with the problem.”
“I have no idea what the fuck you are talking about, but I didn’t do shit to you, Elena. Maybe this kind of bullshit works with Stefan - “
“This has nothing to do with Stefan!”
“Then what is it about? I’ve barely seen you in a month!”
“Right!” Elena turned away, cursing the tears that were rising in her throat, wishing that she was able to play as unaffected as he had been in the past. Pushing past him, she walked around the island in the kitchen, trying to find something to keep her hands busy, something to focus on that wasn’t Damon Salvatore.
Damon followed her, anger and confusion warring for dominance on his face, watching as she started the process to make tea. “Elena, I have no idea what’s going on and I don’t speak Gossip Girl, so why don’t you save us both a lot of time and effort and just tell me what the hell’s going on?”
Elena jerked the faucet on, trying desperately not to let him notice that her hands were shaking. “Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?”
“Elena - “
“I thought we were friends, Damon,” she continued, slamming the kettle onto the stove, willing herself not to look at him and risk losing her anger. “I thought that…we had reached some sort of understanding, but I guess I was wrong.”
She felt him at her back, invading her space for the first time in a month, and she forced herself not to lean into it, to not take comfort in Damon’s lack of boundaries.
“What do you want from me, Elena?” he breathed against her ear, his voice overflowing with emotion. “Do you even know? Or is this a Petrova gene, testing out both of us before you make a choice?”
Elena whirled around so quickly that she nearly lost her balance, a fact made all the worse by the fact that her tears had made their long overdue appearance, sliding down her cheeks so quickly she just knew that he was going to mock her for her weakness.
“That’s what you think of me? After everything, you think I’m just another Katherine? Fuck you, Damon.”
She tried to push him, pressing her hands against the planes of his chest and heaving as hard as she could, a move that was beyond ineffectual. When she tried again, Damon easily caught her wrists, moving her away from the stove and pressing her against the refrigerator. Elena resented being tossed around like a doll, reminded of just how weak she was when push came to literal shove.
Damon glared at her, pinning her in place with the wealth of feelings in the eyes that haunted her dreams. Elena matched his expression, wishing that her cheeks weren’t wet with tears, wishing in that moment that she was like Katherine, immovable to the Salvatores and unaffected by the feelings of others.
“I’m not going through this again,” he growled.
“I’m not her, Damon,” she murmured, the fight going out of her, suddenly so very tired.
She was unprepared for his kiss, at the edge of desperation to his mouth against hers. Elena clung to him, mauling his mouth, trying to give as good as she got, moaning when he moved to her throat and his hands danced down her torso, sketching the shape of her. She wasn’t sure when or how they moved, but she was suddenly on the kitchen table, her legs wrapping around Damon’s hips as if they had been made just for this. He thrust against her center, the needy twist of her hips corkscrewing in a desperation that Elena hadn’t felt in the past seventeen years.
Eight months of foreplay tended to do that to a girl.
Damon was pulling at the button on her jeans and she was obediently lifting her hips, prepared to let Damon take her on the table she had helped her mother re-stain two summers earlier, prepared to do whatever he wanted as long as he didn’t stop touching her.
“Jesus Christ!” Jeremy shouted, immediately shielding his eyes as Damon flew backwards and Elena jumped off of the table, trying to quickly right her clothing as if that would fix what her brother had just witnessed.
“Jeremy,” Elena gasped, trying to formulate an excuse for this, trying to explain away what anyone with a brain cell could interpret for themselves.
“What the fuck, Elena?!”
It was easier to let Damon compel him to forget. She had promised Jeremy after he had found out about Vicki that she would never let him be compelled again, that she would leave him to his own mind, but this was not the same. It was of no importance to Jeremy’s life that he had seen her and Damon going at it on the kitchen table; there was no real sin here.
It was easier to move the line when more and more was at stake.
* * *
It bothered Stefan, the idea of her sleeping with Damon behind closed doors. At first it hadn’t been an issue; shortly after their near-miss on the Gilbert family table, Mason Lockwood had rolled into town, occupying more than a fair amount of both brothers’ time. Elena barely saw either of them for a few weeks, spending most of her time under Caroline’s protection (which involved a lot of manicures and ironic viewings of “True Blood”) or sitting in her room contemplating the incredible craziness of her life.
But then Mason was out of the picture (they didn’t tell her the details and she didn’t want to know so she wouldn’t have to lie to Tyler’s face) and suddenly the gravity of what she had been doing with them started to sink in, started to muddy up the waters so badly she couldn’t see the bottom.
She had gone to the Boardinghouse that Wednesday night, letting herself in rather than playing like she was a guest, navigating the cavernous hallways even in the muted light. Stefan was seated on the couch in the parlor, the fire crackling before him, and for a moment she watched the light dance across his face, just drinking in the sight of him. He was not as beautiful as Damon (though she would never say that aloud) but there was something about his features that tugged at her, that made her want to do nothing more than figure out what was hiding behind his face.
When he turned his head, a small smile playing at his lips, she slipped off her zip-up, letting it drop to the floor without a second thought. She noticed the way his eyes darkened as she shed her t-shirt, at the way he licked his lips as she shimmied out of her jeans and stalked towards him in her bra and panties. When she stood before him, reaching back to unclasp her bra, he shook his head, placing his hands on her hips and resting his forehead against her breast bone, pressing a kiss to her sternum.
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed against her skin, flicking his eyes up to look into her face.
“Bet you say that to all the doppelgangers,” she teased, tugging at his shirt, tossing it over the couch and drawing her nails (a delightful shade of Perfect Plum, courtesy of Caroline) down his chiseled chest.
Stefan chuckled for a moment before groaning as Elena straddled him, giving one slow twist of her hips against his. Cupping his face, she kissed him, pouring all of the love she had into him, her fingers twisting in his thick hair.
“Do you want me?” she whispered in his mouth, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth.
“Always,” he immediately answered before inhaling sharply as she opened his jeans, pushing them far enough down his hips to work him with her hand, using blunt teeth to scrape against his craned neck.
They had been sleeping together only a few weeks when Elena had discovered how much Stefan liked for her to be in control, to catch him off-guard by initiating something. As loving and gentle as Stefan was, he always got a little rougher, a little more demanding when she was writhing on top of him, when she was ineffectually holding him to the mattress. Elena didn’t mind being in control; lately, it was the only control she had.
She reached down, moving aside the cotton of her underwear, feeling the wet warmth of her excitement before slowly sliding down Stefan’s length, sighing at the familiar stretch of muscle to accommodate him.
It had been two weeks (two long weeks) and Elena wondered how she had ever lived without this, without him. She moved slowly and firmly atop him, arching her back, thrusting her breasts towards him as she tilted her head back, reveling in every sensation. Stefan gripped her hips, guiding her movements without attempting to change the rhythm, and he groaned as she clenched around him, corkscrewing her hips in a sudden quick burst of movement.
“Don’t mind me, kids,” Damon drawled as he entered the parlor, freezing their actions. Stefan attempted to draw her closer, as if to protect her modesty, and Elena resisted the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it.
“Damon,” Stefan bit out, the muscle in his cheek jumping with tension.
Pouring himself a glass of bourbon, Damon sank into a nearby chair, tossing his left leg over the arm, the very picture of relaxation. “Oh, pretend I’m not here. As you were.”
“Damon - “
“If you want privacy, little brother, I’d suggest not going at it in the living room,” he interrupted, taking a sip of his alcohol. Elena watched as he eyed her appreciatively, gaze lingering in a way that felt like a caress, and she couldn’t help but clench around Stefan in response, who grunted with the effort to keep from crying out.
She could see it in Stefan’s eyes, could see that he was about to pull her off, to sweep her upstairs away from where Damon could watch any kind of intimacy between them. And she knew that a few months ago, she would have been mortified at the idea of Damon watching her ride Stefan, of Damon seeing her acting so wanton.
The degree to which it now turned her on made her wonder just how much Petrova blood she had in her.
She put her hands on Stefan’s face, forcing his attention back to her; she could read the conflict in his eyes, see his human sensibilities warring with the vampire who had done things she couldn’t even imagine, and she kissed him with more aggression than she had ever used with anyone.
“We were here first,” she declared, snapping her hips and making Stefan call out her name.
Stefan was wild with her, his hands urging her down faster than she thought possible, his mouth slip-sliding across every inch of available skin, his hands tearing off her bra; Elena could barely form a thought beyond God, yes, please, more, Stefan, Stefan, Stefan.
She was drenched in sweat, her long hair starting to stick to her skin, her skin feeling 20 degrees too hot and too tight on her body. So wrapped up in the orgasm she was sprinting towards, she wasn’t even aware that Damon had moved from his place on the chair until his index and middle fingers trailed the length of her spine.
“What does she feel like, Stefan?” he inquired, his voice so loaded with lust that Elena moaned at the sound of it.
“Hot,” Stefan gasped, “tight, perfect.”
Damon gathered up her hair in one hand, lifting it off of her back so as to clear a path for his lips. Dotting kisses randomly across the unblemished canvas of her back, he continued, “What does she taste like?”
“Like the apples from the Forbes’ yard,” Stefan grunted before sealing his mouth around the nipple hovering tantalizingly near his mouth.
Through her sex-induced fog, Elena tried to remember when there had ever been apple trees in Mystic Falls. It was a thought that quickly left the moment that Damon’s fingers dipped into her sodden underwear, brushing against her clit. She moaned, trying to push more fully against Damon’s hand, and he graciously provided more pressure, his fingers pressing tight circles against her flesh. When Damon pressed down firmly, ordering her to come in a whisper, Elena could do nothing but oblige.
As she quaked and shivered around Stefan, who could not help but lose control at her muscles squeezing him so thoroughly, Damon brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking the moisture collected there. While Stefan softened and slipped from her body, Elena continued to tremble, certain that nothing had ever felt so good in her life.
“You were right,” Damon informed him, pressing a soft kiss against her shoulder.
Gathering her strength, she tilted her head backwards, brown eyes meeting blue, and she sighed his name. Damon bent gracefully, pressing his mouth against hers, the kiss shockingly chaste for someone who had just played voyeur to his brother and his (their?) girlfriend.
“You alive, little brother?” Damon teased, his eyes never leaving Elena, who slipped from Stefan’s lap, shivering as the sweat cooled on her body.
Stefan opened his eyes, glaring half-heartedly at his brother. “Shut up, Damon.”
Elena moved slowly from the couch, her muscles aching from Stefan’s enthusiasm, slipping her sweatshirt back around her before returning to her space beside Stefan, who wrapped his arm around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
After a moment, Elena finally asked, “What are we doing, guys?”
Neither of them had an answer; strangely, that made her feel a little better.
If two vampires with 300 years between them couldn’t figure it out, it was perfectly acceptable for a 17-year-old to be confused.
Part Three