Clumsy hands in a dark room (Damon/Elena)
Title: clumsy hands in a dark room
Rating: NC17
For: Multi Fandom Comment Fic-a-thon / Icon-a-thon; Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed. / Crossed out. / Clumsy hands in a dark room. Crossed out. prompted by fluffyfrolicker
Characters/Pairings: Damon/Elena
Warnings: This fic contains Damon.
Wordcount: 400
Summary: “You can't kiss me now,” Damon tells her when she starts unbuttoning his shirt, but she meets his gaze and laughs, what an amusing thing to say.
A/N: post 3x22
clumsy hands in a dark room
“You can't kiss me now,” Damon tells her when she starts unbuttoning his shirt, but she meets his gaze and laughs, what an amusing thing to say.
(“I saved your life,” she told him once, and he smiled before he answered, but they're never having this conversation again.)
The bedroom is darker than Elena would like, but it doesn't matter, she reminds herself. Things are different now, and she doesn't have to turn on the lights to watch Damon break, inch after inch after inch.
Once she even broke his wrist to speed up the process.
Damon takes her apart layer after layer, strips off her clothes, her thoughts, all her carefully laid plans. It's funny how once upon a time she used to think he'd be demanding, when all he wants now is to see her naked, to kiss the veins around her eyes, her tense muscles and clenched fists.
When they did this for the first time, Damon still had some shame, they both did, they tried to kiss passionately and pretend they were doing it for pleasure. But the show is over now: Damon openly falls down on his knees to slid Elena's jeans down her legs, he holds his breath and watches for any sign she might want to give
She thinks he could probably hide it better, try to put on a brave face and control his shaking hands for a bit longer, but he doesn't bother. Instead it's Elena who controls both of their bodies, the only thing she can control these days.
“I will never leave you,” she tells him to scare him, and it doesn't matter if she's telling the truth, because he believes her, fights her, tries to sink his fangs in her neck, but only ends up baring his own.
(She doesn't bite him, at least not yet.)
Sometimes Damon tries to be a gentleman, wait for her before he comes, but Elena has a hundred ways to never let it happen. It's better this way: she watches him fall apart, and before he can even recover, she tugs at his shoulder to push him down. She keeps her hand on his head all the time, presses her body to his mouth, not even allowing him to catch a breath. She likes him better when he's breathless.
It's all right, she tells herself as she arches her back to give him better access. It's all right, she's allowed to enjoy this.
He's not doing it for her.
Rating: NC17
For: Multi Fandom Comment Fic-a-thon / Icon-a-thon; Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed. / Crossed out. / Clumsy hands in a dark room. Crossed out. prompted by fluffyfrolicker
Characters/Pairings: Damon/Elena
Warnings: This fic contains Damon.
Wordcount: 400
Summary: “You can't kiss me now,” Damon tells her when she starts unbuttoning his shirt, but she meets his gaze and laughs, what an amusing thing to say.
A/N: post 3x22
clumsy hands in a dark room
“You can't kiss me now,” Damon tells her when she starts unbuttoning his shirt, but she meets his gaze and laughs, what an amusing thing to say.
(“I saved your life,” she told him once, and he smiled before he answered, but they're never having this conversation again.)
The bedroom is darker than Elena would like, but it doesn't matter, she reminds herself. Things are different now, and she doesn't have to turn on the lights to watch Damon break, inch after inch after inch.
Once she even broke his wrist to speed up the process.
Damon takes her apart layer after layer, strips off her clothes, her thoughts, all her carefully laid plans. It's funny how once upon a time she used to think he'd be demanding, when all he wants now is to see her naked, to kiss the veins around her eyes, her tense muscles and clenched fists.
When they did this for the first time, Damon still had some shame, they both did, they tried to kiss passionately and pretend they were doing it for pleasure. But the show is over now: Damon openly falls down on his knees to slid Elena's jeans down her legs, he holds his breath and watches for any sign she might want to give
She thinks he could probably hide it better, try to put on a brave face and control his shaking hands for a bit longer, but he doesn't bother. Instead it's Elena who controls both of their bodies, the only thing she can control these days.
“I will never leave you,” she tells him to scare him, and it doesn't matter if she's telling the truth, because he believes her, fights her, tries to sink his fangs in her neck, but only ends up baring his own.
(She doesn't bite him, at least not yet.)
Sometimes Damon tries to be a gentleman, wait for her before he comes, but Elena has a hundred ways to never let it happen. It's better this way: she watches him fall apart, and before he can even recover, she tugs at his shoulder to push him down. She keeps her hand on his head all the time, presses her body to his mouth, not even allowing him to catch a breath. She likes him better when he's breathless.
It's all right, she tells herself as she arches her back to give him better access. It's all right, she's allowed to enjoy this.
He's not doing it for her.