Not Much of a Difference
Title: Not Much of a Difference
Rating: NC17 (how did this happen?)
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Wordcount: 670
Prompt: Damon/Katherine, Like a cancer, or a curse / Now be my loving nurse, for December Meme of Doom
For: ever-neutral
Spoilers: nothing explicit, but let's say up to 2x22
Summary: They end up on the floor, because beds aren't really their scene, not any more, not ever.
A/N: Damon/Katherine is not my comfort zone, but I've been rewatching s2, and something clicked... Let's hope it worked. Happy December, Alex!
Not Much of a Difference
It turns out things aren't that different now.
(Damon grabs her wrist so hard it almost bruises, and Katherine pretends that she falls for this act: she hisses in pain and tries to shake him off, probably breaking a finger or two. Damon doesn't let go; Damon never lets go.)
She never really counted on the Salvatore boys being turned, but she took a chance in 1864, and she didn't actually plan what to do with them afterwards. Of course for a while she toyed with the idea that they would travel together, the three of them: the brother who loved her too much, the brother who didn't love her enough, and herself in between; but that was it. She knew it would never happen, not really, but there was something charming in that thought. Almost too charming for her to leave her boys behind. Oh, well.
(They end up on the floor, because beds aren't really their scene, not any more, not ever. Katherine rips Damon's shirt apart just because she can, and he tries to keep up, but she starts laughing as he grabs her dress, so he doesn't. Katherine watches as Damon opens her buttons one after another, his lips following his fingers like in a really bad movie, and she bursts out laughing again, but this time Damon doesn't care. He really is the best lover she's ever had, with his heart always on his sleeve, left for her to scratch as she pleases.)
Katherine likes the poetry of Damon: she remembers how he drank her blood, all sweaty and panting, determined not to admit that sex with her was exhausting for him. Not long after that he died in the forest, with no last words or even a scrap of dignity, and she thought it suited him. She never had a thing for great death.
(Damon's body is tense when he enters her, like it's both a relief and a challenge; that's how it works every single time, and Katherine wonders how is he with women who haven't known him forever, with women from whom he can still hide things. She watches him as he strokes her leg, and she places her foot on his shoulder so that he could go deeper. This way she can see his face; Damon is stronger and faster now, but he still bites his lip when he's about to come, his hair is a mess, and ok, there are veins instead of tears around his eyes, but it doesn't make that much of a difference. “I love you,” she whispers just to mess with his head, and he becomes even more tense, struggling not to believe.)
Damon used to be the kind of boy she would've loved insanely had she known him when she was human, and she still can't help but be just a little fond of him. Of course when she gives it a second thought, she remembers that the boys she used to love back then were very different from him, down to Earth and not at all sentimental, but it doesn't matter that much. She likes the idea nonetheless.
(After a while Katherine lets herself lose it as well; she opens her legs so wide she might seem desperate, arches her back just like she likes it and lets Damon grab her hips to hold her in place. She does none of the things men usually expect her to do; she doesn't scratch his back or scream, and she appreciates that Damon doesn't try to wait until she comes.)
They aren't that different, the two of them, even if, for now, Damon is with the good guys. Katherine doesn't buy this whole redemption thing. That's just not them; they don't die on altars of blood and they don't have their heroic moments. Instead, they crawl out of everything, leave some bodies behind and never look back. Deep down he knows it too, this darling boy of hers.
(Even though he still has this ridiculous obsession with love.)
Rating: NC17 (how did this happen?)
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Wordcount: 670
Prompt: Damon/Katherine, Like a cancer, or a curse / Now be my loving nurse, for December Meme of Doom
For: ever-neutral
Spoilers: nothing explicit, but let's say up to 2x22
Summary: They end up on the floor, because beds aren't really their scene, not any more, not ever.
A/N: Damon/Katherine is not my comfort zone, but I've been rewatching s2, and something clicked... Let's hope it worked. Happy December, Alex!
Not Much of a Difference
It turns out things aren't that different now.
(Damon grabs her wrist so hard it almost bruises, and Katherine pretends that she falls for this act: she hisses in pain and tries to shake him off, probably breaking a finger or two. Damon doesn't let go; Damon never lets go.)
She never really counted on the Salvatore boys being turned, but she took a chance in 1864, and she didn't actually plan what to do with them afterwards. Of course for a while she toyed with the idea that they would travel together, the three of them: the brother who loved her too much, the brother who didn't love her enough, and herself in between; but that was it. She knew it would never happen, not really, but there was something charming in that thought. Almost too charming for her to leave her boys behind. Oh, well.
(They end up on the floor, because beds aren't really their scene, not any more, not ever. Katherine rips Damon's shirt apart just because she can, and he tries to keep up, but she starts laughing as he grabs her dress, so he doesn't. Katherine watches as Damon opens her buttons one after another, his lips following his fingers like in a really bad movie, and she bursts out laughing again, but this time Damon doesn't care. He really is the best lover she's ever had, with his heart always on his sleeve, left for her to scratch as she pleases.)
Katherine likes the poetry of Damon: she remembers how he drank her blood, all sweaty and panting, determined not to admit that sex with her was exhausting for him. Not long after that he died in the forest, with no last words or even a scrap of dignity, and she thought it suited him. She never had a thing for great death.
(Damon's body is tense when he enters her, like it's both a relief and a challenge; that's how it works every single time, and Katherine wonders how is he with women who haven't known him forever, with women from whom he can still hide things. She watches him as he strokes her leg, and she places her foot on his shoulder so that he could go deeper. This way she can see his face; Damon is stronger and faster now, but he still bites his lip when he's about to come, his hair is a mess, and ok, there are veins instead of tears around his eyes, but it doesn't make that much of a difference. “I love you,” she whispers just to mess with his head, and he becomes even more tense, struggling not to believe.)
Damon used to be the kind of boy she would've loved insanely had she known him when she was human, and she still can't help but be just a little fond of him. Of course when she gives it a second thought, she remembers that the boys she used to love back then were very different from him, down to Earth and not at all sentimental, but it doesn't matter that much. She likes the idea nonetheless.
(After a while Katherine lets herself lose it as well; she opens her legs so wide she might seem desperate, arches her back just like she likes it and lets Damon grab her hips to hold her in place. She does none of the things men usually expect her to do; she doesn't scratch his back or scream, and she appreciates that Damon doesn't try to wait until she comes.)
They aren't that different, the two of them, even if, for now, Damon is with the good guys. Katherine doesn't buy this whole redemption thing. That's just not them; they don't die on altars of blood and they don't have their heroic moments. Instead, they crawl out of everything, leave some bodies behind and never look back. Deep down he knows it too, this darling boy of hers.
(Even though he still has this ridiculous obsession with love.)