Nice (Damon/Rose)
Title: Nice
Rating: NC-17
For: a multifandom women comment ficathon; Would you kiss me once in the sunshine?/Would you kiss me twice just for old times? prompted by plural-entity
Characters/Pairings: Damon/Rose
Wordcount: 250
Summary: Rose knows she's going to die.
A/N: set in s2.
Nice
Rose knows she's going to die.
It's not some epiphany she had, mysterious knowledge she acquired after many years of searching for answers. It's a basic truth she's always known, something she could see and feel and touch ever since she was old enough to experience fear. She doesn't even need to know the when, the how and the why, time really is quite irrelevant.
So, obviously, when Damon Salvatore wraps his arm around her waist and starts kissing her neck, she leans into his touch immediately.
It's been a while since Rose slept with someone old enough to understand the darkness of night and the fears of winter. Maybe Damon doesn't understand as well as she does, sheltered in Virginia in a way she couldn't have been sheltered in England, but it's close enough. Rose's never been a nit-picker, and she sure as hell isn't gonna start now.
Not when he closes his eyes and pulls her on top of him.
Damon gives her a soft smile, and Rose is tempted to ask if he remembers breaking thin layers of ice in a basin to wash your face at dawn and listening to sermons about chastity every Sunday morning, your lips still swollen from previous night's kisses. She doesn't ask, of course, doesn't really want to know. But it's a nice thought to play with as she rocks her hips and traces Damon's shoulders with her finger, very nice indeed.
You should have something nice before you die.
Rating: NC-17
For: a multifandom women comment ficathon; Would you kiss me once in the sunshine?/Would you kiss me twice just for old times? prompted by plural-entity
Characters/Pairings: Damon/Rose
Wordcount: 250
Summary: Rose knows she's going to die.
A/N: set in s2.
Nice
Rose knows she's going to die.
It's not some epiphany she had, mysterious knowledge she acquired after many years of searching for answers. It's a basic truth she's always known, something she could see and feel and touch ever since she was old enough to experience fear. She doesn't even need to know the when, the how and the why, time really is quite irrelevant.
So, obviously, when Damon Salvatore wraps his arm around her waist and starts kissing her neck, she leans into his touch immediately.
It's been a while since Rose slept with someone old enough to understand the darkness of night and the fears of winter. Maybe Damon doesn't understand as well as she does, sheltered in Virginia in a way she couldn't have been sheltered in England, but it's close enough. Rose's never been a nit-picker, and she sure as hell isn't gonna start now.
Not when he closes his eyes and pulls her on top of him.
Damon gives her a soft smile, and Rose is tempted to ask if he remembers breaking thin layers of ice in a basin to wash your face at dawn and listening to sermons about chastity every Sunday morning, your lips still swollen from previous night's kisses. She doesn't ask, of course, doesn't really want to know. But it's a nice thought to play with as she rocks her hips and traces Damon's shoulders with her finger, very nice indeed.
You should have something nice before you die.