Then I Set Fire to Our Bed (Damon/Elena)
Title: Then I Set Fire to Our Bed
Author: upupa-epops
Recipient: woobloo
Prompt: Damon/Elena, Then I set fire to our bed
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: non-graphic violence, multiple allusions to trauma and torture, general creepiness, sexual situations
Spoilers: 4x21 promos
Characters/Pairings: Elena/Damon
Wordcount: 1000
Summary: Elena wakes up on fire.
A/N: First of all, your prompt was just too perfect to not use it as a title. Second of all... I'm not really sure what this is. I might actually end up using this as an introduction to a long!fic I want to write during summer hiatus (if I don't end up thoroughly Jossed, that is). I'm sorry if this is a rushed mess - your prompt ate my brain, and I got a bit carried away. I was determined to write something post-4x21, and that proved to be a litte bit difficult without, you know. Actually seeing 4x21.
Written for Elena Gilbert Fanwork Exchange at ialwayssurvive. Crossposted at i-wrote-a-thing.
Then I Set Fire to Our Bed
Broke your jaw once before
I spilt your blood upon the floor
You broke my leg in return
So let's sit back and watch the bed burn
Blood sticks sweat drips
Break the lock if it don't fit
A kick in the teeth is good for some
A kiss with a fist is better than none
Florence + The Machine, Kiss With a Fist
Elena wakes up on fire.
(She doesn't, of course. They would never, she tells herself, but then she trails off, thought half-forgotten, nothing to see, move it along. It's not important anyway.)
Damon stirs beside her when she sits up. He's a ridiculously light sleeper, which makes perfect sense, but it's still a bit surprising that she would know what a light sleeper he is. She pulls closer to him, and he embraces her without even opening his eyes, a protective gesture that makes Elena let out a slow, controlled breath. She's going to be okay, she reminds herself as she feels his grip close around her, no one's gonna harm her.
(Not even...)
So when she is sure Damon is asleep again, she sneaks out of his bed, grabs a blanket, and curls up on the couch in front of the fireplace downstairs.
The heat from the flames is slowly licking her skin, and Elena likes it, relaxes in the warmth like a cat, slowly stretches her arms and legs. Sometimes when she does this, she dreams the fire jumps all the way to the couch and envelops her whole, the way it did with Jeremy, nice and slow, such a moment of clarity. It's funny how people actually think she's afraid of fire. She lets them project, of course, but a little voice inside her head laughs every time she sees their worried glances. Fire will always mean clarity for her, empty mind and clear-cut lines, sweet and simple.
No one ever dares to come closer when she's here. Sometimes can even hear footsteps, footsteps all around the house, avoiding her carefully. She sits in front of the fireplace when she wants to be alone, falls asleep or even stares at the flames just to make her loved ones uncomfortable.
(They love her, she remembers. That's the problem.)
***
Sleeping with Damon is going well. They move together as one, deep breaths and slow motion, one deliberate thrust after another. Damon feels warm under Elena's fingers, pulsating with heat and tension.
(Sometimes Elena thinks this is why she's back in his bed, even after everything.
“You're hot,” she tells him, and he takes it literally, takes off his shirt so she can dive into the warmth of his chest and bask in it. She knows that he won't apologize, knows that what happened between them is too big for an apology, but he'll always let her turn him inside out in search for heat.)
Elena likes it when he's behind her, and she feels nothing but a hot hand resting on her lower back. It doesn't bother her when he says “I love you,” not anymore; this is the truth, after all, and only now does she know exactly what it means.
“I love you too,” she tells him sometimes before she kisses him. Her hair, still warm from the sun, falls on his forearms as he cups her face, and Elena knows that Damon, too, is surprised when it doesn't burn.
***
The things she does these days are mean and petty, vervain between Stefan's sheets and salt in Bonnie's morning coffee. Then she pretends they're accidents, or better still, that she didn't have anything to do with them at all.
(She tried to kill her friends, everyone's eyes remind her day after day. She has no right to be petty.)
Stefan bought her a new journal after she turned her humanity switch back on, but Elena doesn't feel like she can make words anymore. A part of her wants to burn the journal, watch blank pages go up in flames, but then she remembers she doesn't do those things anymore, so she just ignores all the nagging feelings. There's nothing to talk about, and ever since she got the new journal, she started spending more and more time by the fireplace, just to make sure she won't have to.
(Some nights, when she is sure no one is listening, she rips out a single page from the middle and watches it burn before she sleeps.)
This is where Damon finally finds her.
He takes off his daylight ring the moment he sees her, throws it at her like a statement, or maybe a dare, he probably doesn't know himself.
What's important is that she takes a burning branch from the fire.
Her mind is clear when she does it, burning so bright she can see everything, Damon's arms wide open and his eyes devoid of fear. (That's one thing they have in common: they're only ever afraid of themselves.) He doesn't even blink when she throws the branch at the couch and flames start creeping up the cushions.
Elena pulls him into a kiss without warning, rips his shirt off him and throws it blindly, hoping it'd reach the fire. When Damon tries to catch it, she slaps his face so hard her daylight ring breaks the skin, she hateshimloveshimwantshim, her hand pressed to the cut on his cheek as he bites her lip so hard he draws blood. The fire shoots high and slowly dies, apparently furniture doesn't burn so well without fuel, and Elena pushes Damon down to the floor, close to the heat and the stench. With the fire gone, she hopes to find it elsewhere; her nails dig deeply into Damon's skin, and she doesn't even care that he slides her jeans off of her legs.
She sees no reason not to take him inside her, and he locks his gaze with hers as she rides him, her head surrounded by smoke.
(It is, she's sure of it.)
They settle down together, rough around the edges, and for a second Elena thinks this should give her something, an ending, a sense of closure. She believes, out of habit, that one day there will be a happily ever after for her, a reward for her silence and perseverance, something happy, and bright, and warm.
When she looks down, she sees her handprint burning bright red on Damon's torn cheek.
Author: upupa-epops
Recipient: woobloo
Prompt: Damon/Elena, Then I set fire to our bed
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: non-graphic violence, multiple allusions to trauma and torture, general creepiness, sexual situations
Spoilers: 4x21 promos
Characters/Pairings: Elena/Damon
Wordcount: 1000
Summary: Elena wakes up on fire.
A/N: First of all, your prompt was just too perfect to not use it as a title. Second of all... I'm not really sure what this is. I might actually end up using this as an introduction to a long!fic I want to write during summer hiatus (if I don't end up thoroughly Jossed, that is). I'm sorry if this is a rushed mess - your prompt ate my brain, and I got a bit carried away. I was determined to write something post-4x21, and that proved to be a litte bit difficult without, you know. Actually seeing 4x21.
Written for Elena Gilbert Fanwork Exchange at ialwayssurvive. Crossposted at i-wrote-a-thing.
Then I Set Fire to Our Bed
Broke your jaw once before
I spilt your blood upon the floor
You broke my leg in return
So let's sit back and watch the bed burn
Blood sticks sweat drips
Break the lock if it don't fit
A kick in the teeth is good for some
A kiss with a fist is better than none
Florence + The Machine, Kiss With a Fist
Elena wakes up on fire.
(She doesn't, of course. They would never, she tells herself, but then she trails off, thought half-forgotten, nothing to see, move it along. It's not important anyway.)
Damon stirs beside her when she sits up. He's a ridiculously light sleeper, which makes perfect sense, but it's still a bit surprising that she would know what a light sleeper he is. She pulls closer to him, and he embraces her without even opening his eyes, a protective gesture that makes Elena let out a slow, controlled breath. She's going to be okay, she reminds herself as she feels his grip close around her, no one's gonna harm her.
(Not even...)
So when she is sure Damon is asleep again, she sneaks out of his bed, grabs a blanket, and curls up on the couch in front of the fireplace downstairs.
The heat from the flames is slowly licking her skin, and Elena likes it, relaxes in the warmth like a cat, slowly stretches her arms and legs. Sometimes when she does this, she dreams the fire jumps all the way to the couch and envelops her whole, the way it did with Jeremy, nice and slow, such a moment of clarity. It's funny how people actually think she's afraid of fire. She lets them project, of course, but a little voice inside her head laughs every time she sees their worried glances. Fire will always mean clarity for her, empty mind and clear-cut lines, sweet and simple.
No one ever dares to come closer when she's here. Sometimes can even hear footsteps, footsteps all around the house, avoiding her carefully. She sits in front of the fireplace when she wants to be alone, falls asleep or even stares at the flames just to make her loved ones uncomfortable.
(They love her, she remembers. That's the problem.)
***
Sleeping with Damon is going well. They move together as one, deep breaths and slow motion, one deliberate thrust after another. Damon feels warm under Elena's fingers, pulsating with heat and tension.
(Sometimes Elena thinks this is why she's back in his bed, even after everything.
“You're hot,” she tells him, and he takes it literally, takes off his shirt so she can dive into the warmth of his chest and bask in it. She knows that he won't apologize, knows that what happened between them is too big for an apology, but he'll always let her turn him inside out in search for heat.)
Elena likes it when he's behind her, and she feels nothing but a hot hand resting on her lower back. It doesn't bother her when he says “I love you,” not anymore; this is the truth, after all, and only now does she know exactly what it means.
“I love you too,” she tells him sometimes before she kisses him. Her hair, still warm from the sun, falls on his forearms as he cups her face, and Elena knows that Damon, too, is surprised when it doesn't burn.
***
The things she does these days are mean and petty, vervain between Stefan's sheets and salt in Bonnie's morning coffee. Then she pretends they're accidents, or better still, that she didn't have anything to do with them at all.
(She tried to kill her friends, everyone's eyes remind her day after day. She has no right to be petty.)
Stefan bought her a new journal after she turned her humanity switch back on, but Elena doesn't feel like she can make words anymore. A part of her wants to burn the journal, watch blank pages go up in flames, but then she remembers she doesn't do those things anymore, so she just ignores all the nagging feelings. There's nothing to talk about, and ever since she got the new journal, she started spending more and more time by the fireplace, just to make sure she won't have to.
(Some nights, when she is sure no one is listening, she rips out a single page from the middle and watches it burn before she sleeps.)
This is where Damon finally finds her.
He takes off his daylight ring the moment he sees her, throws it at her like a statement, or maybe a dare, he probably doesn't know himself.
What's important is that she takes a burning branch from the fire.
Her mind is clear when she does it, burning so bright she can see everything, Damon's arms wide open and his eyes devoid of fear. (That's one thing they have in common: they're only ever afraid of themselves.) He doesn't even blink when she throws the branch at the couch and flames start creeping up the cushions.
Elena pulls him into a kiss without warning, rips his shirt off him and throws it blindly, hoping it'd reach the fire. When Damon tries to catch it, she slaps his face so hard her daylight ring breaks the skin, she hateshimloveshimwantshim, her hand pressed to the cut on his cheek as he bites her lip so hard he draws blood. The fire shoots high and slowly dies, apparently furniture doesn't burn so well without fuel, and Elena pushes Damon down to the floor, close to the heat and the stench. With the fire gone, she hopes to find it elsewhere; her nails dig deeply into Damon's skin, and she doesn't even care that he slides her jeans off of her legs.
She sees no reason not to take him inside her, and he locks his gaze with hers as she rides him, her head surrounded by smoke.
(It is, she's sure of it.)
They settle down together, rough around the edges, and for a second Elena thinks this should give her something, an ending, a sense of closure. She believes, out of habit, that one day there will be a happily ever after for her, a reward for her silence and perseverance, something happy, and bright, and warm.
When she looks down, she sees her handprint burning bright red on Damon's torn cheek.