Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries nor its characters. They belong to L.J. Smith, Kevin Williamson, Julie Plec, The CW Network, and whoever else.
Note/Warning: Yeah, I'm not sure where this came from, but for some reason, I find the possibility of George/Anna intriguing.
Because We're Beautiful Monsters In the Dark
Full moon is two nights away. The beast is already pacing the cage his smooth skin and upright body represents. There are rumblings at the back of his mind that will be howls come the eve of the full moon's rise.
He can smell the death on her.
Disgust boils in his blood - but he's kissing her, whispering meaningless words to her, pulling her flush against him like any normal lover. He would feel shame if he could, but useless sensations such as shame, guilt, and horror are lost to the numbness left by the agony of flesh ripping apart and bones shattering and reforming. He should feel hatred - and he can still taste the bitterness of hate's intensity - but she looks so perfectly the girlchild she's pretending to be he doesn't bother.
He can still taste the lingering flavor of blood on her tongue.
She trembles underneath him. Her head turns away, burries against the pillow to hide the blood rushing to her eyes. She is crying and clutching him as though she will become lost forever should she ever let go. Her body arches to his though he knows there's pain mixed with the pleasure that leaves her shuddering.
He leans in and suckles on her pulse - filthy, deceptive body she possesses - because his eyes are glowing bright in the darkness of his room. He can feel it, the monster clawing at his skin until the talons are almost pushing through his fingertips as he cradles her to him. He groans. It almost sounds like a growl.
Beneath him, the 'demon' whimpers half in fear and half in need. She's frail and pitiful and eager to please, desperate for things she's never known before - he doesn't understand her mother's overprotective nature, or his potential intended's willingness to bend and obey. Her face turns to him, and he presses his mouth over hers to hush her cries. She cups his face gently. Every move she makes is tentative and tender.
He almost forgets the reason why she's not burning up with lust like the working girls in seedy towns eager to bleed every poor soldier dry - of his money.
They will carry on their perfect act of good, decent human beings who may begin a healthy, chaste courtship. They do have that in common - they are both impeccable actors.
Tonight he takes his fill of her and grows drunk on her fascinatingly intact innocence. In two nights he will smell her stench on him and go rabid on himself and any damned fool that comes across his path.
For a brief moment, he almost wants to warn her of what's to come. Then it passes.