TVD Fic: 1562 Words / Damon & Elena
Title: These Lights; They're All Around Me.
Pairing: Damon Salvatore/Elena Gilbert
Word Count: 1562
Rating: PG-13
Summary: She wants out. She wants away. That's what she came here for. That's why she said yes without even having to consider it when Damon rocked up on her doorstep in his beat up blue Chevy and told her he was going away for a while; did she want to come? She never asked him why he asked her, and she probably won't until much later on. She just packed her bags and left a note for Jenna and walked out of the house and into the car like she had no cares in the world.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Vampire Diaries, nor any of these characters.
She hasn't seen Damon smile like this in a long time. She hasn't smiled like this in a long time. He twirls her under his arm, spins her out and brings her back in. She trips on her own feet and they laugh. It's a nice kind of laugh. A relieved kind of laugh. His fingertips brush the insides of her wrists and her skin feels like it's crawling. She grips his forearms, fingers rubbing over the leather of his jacket as she tries to stand straight.
The lights in the bar are making her heady and the room feels like it's spinning. Maybe it's just her. Maybe it's the way Damon stares at her like she's the first thing he's ever laid eyes on. Maybe she is. She doesn't know what he feels. She knows what she feels. And right now it isn't fear and hurt and betrayal. It's fun and lights and pretty things and Damon.
She wonders what he thinks.
She's not thinking coherently.
Maybe this was his plan?
It doesn't matter. Damon tips his head back to stare at the cheap strobe lights and pulls on her hands. She leans back, looking up and watching as the lights merge and jolt and twist and spin above her prettily. It reminds her of when she was very young, and she was in the backseat as her parents drove home from dinner at a friend's. They'd driven past a car accident, and a young Elena had seen the flashing reds and blues of the police cars and the swirls of the ambulance and said to her parents, "pretty."
She doesn't remember being told they weren't.
Damon pulls her in close and leans his chin on her shoulder. She feels him grinding his teeth and rolls her eyes. It just kind of hurts though, and it isn't effective because Damon can't see her. He huffs into her ear and she laughs, shoving him away and slipping away into the dance floor. This is new, what they're doing. Georgia was a long time ago, people and minutes and moments and memories ago. Here and now, in this unknown bar ten hours away from Mystic Falls is where they are now. Ten hours and horrible music and reckless driving on Damon's behalf. One hour of pessimism, fifteen minutes of arguing, two hours of silence and a lot of hours for everything in between.
Sleeping, talking, remembering, missing.
They've both loved and lost.
That's the kind of thing that hurts the most.
Someone takes Elena's hand and starts to dance with her. She knows it isn't Damon, and she doesn't mind, because she knows he'll be around; dancing with some new girl. Hands flit down her arms and to her waist. The grip is a little possessive. She lets it go on for a while, and then she turns around and smiles drunkenly at the man, before slipping away.
She's the master of discrete exits. Well, she's normally a little smoother about it when she's sober, of course. But that doesn't count. There are some older women who con her into dancing, and she dances with them and laughs and snorts and throws her hands into the air because they all are. She tires of that too, and her throat feels dry, like she's had nothing to drink; except she has. She pushes past people to get to the bar.
Damon is there.
"Hey you," he says, and gulps at the liquid in his glass.
"I'm so thirsty," she tells him, waving her hands at her face in an attempt to cool herself down.
He laughs, "oh, I know that feeling."
She looks at him sideways, tries not to smile. "Drink, please?"
He eyes her with a grin before asking, "and what does the lady want?"
"Something sweet, something different, surprise me." She looks behind the bar at the colored bottle. "You've done well so far."
Damon flags the bartender, stares at him, asks for something Elena has never heard of and doesn't give him any money. When her drink arrives it's in a tall glass and looks pretty.
"What is it?" She asks.
Damon smirks. "It's a surprise."
"Oh, I like this song!" Elena ignores him, fingers around her glass as she slips off her stool and moves towards the crowd. She looks back at him, brows raised, but he shakes his head in declination. She shrugs. She finds the ladies again and dances with them, even as they yell and shout into her ear nonsense. It's okay, Elena is used to hearing nonsense and no sense and sense all the time. After a while it just means the same thing. No matter what anyone tells you. Doesnt it?
She ends up dancing with the man again, the one from before. "Hi," he says loudly. She smiles a little awkwardly and clutches her drink. She sips at it and likes the sweetness and tries to move away. "Interested?" He asks her.
Elena looks up at him, but his face swims in her vision and she sees other faces settle atop his, faces she knows too well and wants to forget. "No." It's abrupt and rude, but Elena doesn't care. She wants out. She wants away. That's what she came here for. That's why she said yes without even having to consider it when Damon rocked up on her doorstep in his beat up blue Chevy and told her he was going away for a while; did she want to come? She never asked him why he asked her, and she probably won't until much later on. She just packed her bags and left a note for Jenna and walked out of the house and into the car like she had no cares in the world.
She didn't.
Not anymore.
Not after the one person she cared about the most didn't care about her the same way.
She pulls away from his grabbing hands and shifts into the crowd, blending in and sipping at her drink like some kind of comfort. It's like she can sense him. Except she can't. Maybe she can. She's had years of being stalked by vampires to know when someone is watching her. She turns and looks over her shoulder to see the same man following her. He smiles a little lecherously when he catches her looking. Elena pushes past someone, knocks them over and apologizes hastily.
A hand grabs her arm. "One dance?" She looks up into his face. He's nothing spectacular, and to be honest, she couldn't describe him if she tried. His face is just another in her mind, another face she's seen come and go in her life that she doesn't want to get to know because in the end, he'll just be the face she'll forget. Too bad the face she wants to forget won't be forgotten.
"One," she concedes, because she figures it's better to humor the man than to blow him off and make him angry. They dance and it's decent, but then his hands wander and touch her and it makes her uncomfortable because no one puts their hands on her waist, on the swell of her ass, on the small of back. No one has for a while and the last person to do that-- "No," Elena pulls away, "no, no." She wrenches away from him and feels panic rise in her when he doesn't let her go. "No!" She says, loudly, and pulls. She drops her glass and it shatters.
"What's going on?"
Elena looks up, eyes wide and vision blurred as Damon appears beside her. He looks down at the broken glass and her spilled drink and back to the man holding her wrist. He raises a brow.
"Nothing," the man says, "just dancing."
"Not with her," says Damon darkly, and puts his hand on the man's arm. "Now let go."
It's obvious that the man doesn't choose to let go. Damon makes him. He winces as Damon removes his hand from Elena's. Elena shifts so she's slightly behind Damon. It doesn't bother him. He places an arm around her securely and glares at the man opposite them. "Fuck off." It's short and sharp and to the point. Damon's tone is dangerous. Not even challenging; telling.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" The man sneers at them, glares at Elena, "fucking cock tease little bitch."
It's really quite simple. Damon is not impressed. He moves Elena away, and then turns around and slams his fist so hard into the man's face his nose breaks and blood spurts out. A couple to his left yell as blood splatters at their clothes. The man reels backwards and falls. Damon looks down at him blankly before wrapping his arm around Elena again and guiding her back to the bar.
"Do you want to go?" He asks her, and she nods, fingers clutching at the bottom of his jacket as if to keep from getting herself lost. He steers her towards the doors, past security and into the fresh night air.
It hits her like a tidal wave and she groans, because now she feels sick. She bends over, absolutely sure she's going to throw up, and feels Damon beside her; his hands pulling her hair from her face.
"It's okay," he says softly, even as she retches and cries, "I'm here for you."
Through the rawness in her voice she manages to choke out, "I know."
~End.
Pairing: Damon Salvatore/Elena Gilbert
Word Count: 1562
Rating: PG-13
Summary: She wants out. She wants away. That's what she came here for. That's why she said yes without even having to consider it when Damon rocked up on her doorstep in his beat up blue Chevy and told her he was going away for a while; did she want to come? She never asked him why he asked her, and she probably won't until much later on. She just packed her bags and left a note for Jenna and walked out of the house and into the car like she had no cares in the world.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Vampire Diaries, nor any of these characters.
She hasn't seen Damon smile like this in a long time. She hasn't smiled like this in a long time. He twirls her under his arm, spins her out and brings her back in. She trips on her own feet and they laugh. It's a nice kind of laugh. A relieved kind of laugh. His fingertips brush the insides of her wrists and her skin feels like it's crawling. She grips his forearms, fingers rubbing over the leather of his jacket as she tries to stand straight.
The lights in the bar are making her heady and the room feels like it's spinning. Maybe it's just her. Maybe it's the way Damon stares at her like she's the first thing he's ever laid eyes on. Maybe she is. She doesn't know what he feels. She knows what she feels. And right now it isn't fear and hurt and betrayal. It's fun and lights and pretty things and Damon.
She wonders what he thinks.
She's not thinking coherently.
Maybe this was his plan?
It doesn't matter. Damon tips his head back to stare at the cheap strobe lights and pulls on her hands. She leans back, looking up and watching as the lights merge and jolt and twist and spin above her prettily. It reminds her of when she was very young, and she was in the backseat as her parents drove home from dinner at a friend's. They'd driven past a car accident, and a young Elena had seen the flashing reds and blues of the police cars and the swirls of the ambulance and said to her parents, "pretty."
She doesn't remember being told they weren't.
Damon pulls her in close and leans his chin on her shoulder. She feels him grinding his teeth and rolls her eyes. It just kind of hurts though, and it isn't effective because Damon can't see her. He huffs into her ear and she laughs, shoving him away and slipping away into the dance floor. This is new, what they're doing. Georgia was a long time ago, people and minutes and moments and memories ago. Here and now, in this unknown bar ten hours away from Mystic Falls is where they are now. Ten hours and horrible music and reckless driving on Damon's behalf. One hour of pessimism, fifteen minutes of arguing, two hours of silence and a lot of hours for everything in between.
Sleeping, talking, remembering, missing.
They've both loved and lost.
That's the kind of thing that hurts the most.
Someone takes Elena's hand and starts to dance with her. She knows it isn't Damon, and she doesn't mind, because she knows he'll be around; dancing with some new girl. Hands flit down her arms and to her waist. The grip is a little possessive. She lets it go on for a while, and then she turns around and smiles drunkenly at the man, before slipping away.
She's the master of discrete exits. Well, she's normally a little smoother about it when she's sober, of course. But that doesn't count. There are some older women who con her into dancing, and she dances with them and laughs and snorts and throws her hands into the air because they all are. She tires of that too, and her throat feels dry, like she's had nothing to drink; except she has. She pushes past people to get to the bar.
Damon is there.
"Hey you," he says, and gulps at the liquid in his glass.
"I'm so thirsty," she tells him, waving her hands at her face in an attempt to cool herself down.
He laughs, "oh, I know that feeling."
She looks at him sideways, tries not to smile. "Drink, please?"
He eyes her with a grin before asking, "and what does the lady want?"
"Something sweet, something different, surprise me." She looks behind the bar at the colored bottle. "You've done well so far."
Damon flags the bartender, stares at him, asks for something Elena has never heard of and doesn't give him any money. When her drink arrives it's in a tall glass and looks pretty.
"What is it?" She asks.
Damon smirks. "It's a surprise."
"Oh, I like this song!" Elena ignores him, fingers around her glass as she slips off her stool and moves towards the crowd. She looks back at him, brows raised, but he shakes his head in declination. She shrugs. She finds the ladies again and dances with them, even as they yell and shout into her ear nonsense. It's okay, Elena is used to hearing nonsense and no sense and sense all the time. After a while it just means the same thing. No matter what anyone tells you. Doesnt it?
She ends up dancing with the man again, the one from before. "Hi," he says loudly. She smiles a little awkwardly and clutches her drink. She sips at it and likes the sweetness and tries to move away. "Interested?" He asks her.
Elena looks up at him, but his face swims in her vision and she sees other faces settle atop his, faces she knows too well and wants to forget. "No." It's abrupt and rude, but Elena doesn't care. She wants out. She wants away. That's what she came here for. That's why she said yes without even having to consider it when Damon rocked up on her doorstep in his beat up blue Chevy and told her he was going away for a while; did she want to come? She never asked him why he asked her, and she probably won't until much later on. She just packed her bags and left a note for Jenna and walked out of the house and into the car like she had no cares in the world.
She didn't.
Not anymore.
Not after the one person she cared about the most didn't care about her the same way.
She pulls away from his grabbing hands and shifts into the crowd, blending in and sipping at her drink like some kind of comfort. It's like she can sense him. Except she can't. Maybe she can. She's had years of being stalked by vampires to know when someone is watching her. She turns and looks over her shoulder to see the same man following her. He smiles a little lecherously when he catches her looking. Elena pushes past someone, knocks them over and apologizes hastily.
A hand grabs her arm. "One dance?" She looks up into his face. He's nothing spectacular, and to be honest, she couldn't describe him if she tried. His face is just another in her mind, another face she's seen come and go in her life that she doesn't want to get to know because in the end, he'll just be the face she'll forget. Too bad the face she wants to forget won't be forgotten.
"One," she concedes, because she figures it's better to humor the man than to blow him off and make him angry. They dance and it's decent, but then his hands wander and touch her and it makes her uncomfortable because no one puts their hands on her waist, on the swell of her ass, on the small of back. No one has for a while and the last person to do that-- "No," Elena pulls away, "no, no." She wrenches away from him and feels panic rise in her when he doesn't let her go. "No!" She says, loudly, and pulls. She drops her glass and it shatters.
"What's going on?"
Elena looks up, eyes wide and vision blurred as Damon appears beside her. He looks down at the broken glass and her spilled drink and back to the man holding her wrist. He raises a brow.
"Nothing," the man says, "just dancing."
"Not with her," says Damon darkly, and puts his hand on the man's arm. "Now let go."
It's obvious that the man doesn't choose to let go. Damon makes him. He winces as Damon removes his hand from Elena's. Elena shifts so she's slightly behind Damon. It doesn't bother him. He places an arm around her securely and glares at the man opposite them. "Fuck off." It's short and sharp and to the point. Damon's tone is dangerous. Not even challenging; telling.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" The man sneers at them, glares at Elena, "fucking cock tease little bitch."
It's really quite simple. Damon is not impressed. He moves Elena away, and then turns around and slams his fist so hard into the man's face his nose breaks and blood spurts out. A couple to his left yell as blood splatters at their clothes. The man reels backwards and falls. Damon looks down at him blankly before wrapping his arm around Elena again and guiding her back to the bar.
"Do you want to go?" He asks her, and she nods, fingers clutching at the bottom of his jacket as if to keep from getting herself lost. He steers her towards the doors, past security and into the fresh night air.
It hits her like a tidal wave and she groans, because now she feels sick. She bends over, absolutely sure she's going to throw up, and feels Damon beside her; his hands pulling her hair from her face.
"It's okay," he says softly, even as she retches and cries, "I'm here for you."
Through the rawness in her voice she manages to choke out, "I know."
~End.