Warnings: Gay love. Between brothers. So, incest. Don't worry, I don't condone this; I actually have brothers and it would be disgusting if they got together. But...Damon and Stefan transcend the power of blood lines. They're just meant to be. :D
Oh, also, if you didn't realise from the summary, shit-tons of cussing. Shit-tons by the pound. Yes, that last sentence doesn't make any sense; I guess I should add I'm a terrible writer. But I guess you already deduced that. ;D
Author's Note: Teehee. I'm a terrible person. I have another Stamon story to complete, and I'm at a critical scene...yeah. Sorry, readers of my other work who are expecting an update. Feel free to throw metaphorical stones at my already-scarred body.
Um, yeah...I came up with this idea one morning on the way to getting ready for school; it kind popped up as I was shaving my legs and I was like, "OOH!" I think I scared my dog. So, yeah, I thought of this and now I can't stop until I get it down. Forever.
Haha, hope you don't think I'm weird; I am, but I just don't want that to stop you from reading...my shitty little story. Know what, maybe you shouldn't read. Or maybe you should just pass over my crazy attention-seeking Author's Notes...either way. Alright, I'll let you get to it; please review to alert me of my terrible writing! :D
As the carriage drew up to his destination, the horses' hooves pounding against the gravel pathway, the man drew a curtain back from the window, looking out upon the scenery he hadn't been privy to for long…too long, he decided, as, with a smile, he noticed a few children playing together in a nearby field, the sun shining brightly upon their heads. He wondered when the last time was that he felt that innocent. Also too long, he thought to himself, chuckling and letting the curtain fall back in place.
He'd wanted to ride his horse back home. He'd been meaning to, until he heard from one of his friends, whom he'd been in correspondence with during his absence, that she would be there. Straightening his collar, the man cleared his throat nervously, fingering at the coarse material held between his slightly shaking fingers. He always felt inadequate in her presence; she let him, too. Just one lingering glance upon a tear in his sleeve, or a passing comment about his muddied boots, could make his heart sink lower than was normal.
The man held his head in his hands, needlessly nervous. He knew this, knew she'd most likely just ignore him to get his interest piqued (not that it wasn't already) but he was still excited in his expectation of seeing a woman, especially the one he loved, after so long. He bit his lip, studying the plush insides of the carriage. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. He was still getting used to refineries; after his absence, even this seemed a little too plush for his taste. He needed a sore ass from riding his horse all day, needed companions to discuss that which was considered below the members of his class, needed to get back to war.
The carriage jolted, startling the man enough that he lost hold of his thoughts. He poked his head out the window beside him, searching for the cause. His eyes popped wide open when he realised that, as he bumbled along in his less than amiable thoughts, the carriage driver had brought the man to his destination. There it was, that large, imposing house he'd always found a little too big for his comforts, the large garden he'd spent his boyhood exploring, his family rushing out the door…oh, shit. The man quickly tucked his head back inside, taking a deep breath. Now was the time to face his demons, each and every one.
Buttoning his top button (which he usually found unbearably stifling) the man slowly exited the carriage, gracefully letting himself down the rather rickety steps, congratulating himself when he realised he'd gotten down without breaking his neck, a tough feat. His self-satisfied smile disappeared when he looked up, lost to the sight of his father's frown. Straightening his coat, the man slowly walked forward, as he saw his family members step out from behind his father. "Father," the man said, outstretching his hand and dipping his neck respectfully.
His father sighed before accepting the man's hand, his eyes dissatisfied. "Damon," he responded, quickly releasing Damon's hand from his grip. He pretended not to notice; Damon was used to his father's behavior around him. He was a disappointment, what could he say.
He turned when he heard a slight noise, finding his mother to be the source. He smiled widely, his eyes dancing with pleasure. "Mother," he stated, walking forward and enveloping her in a big hug, never mind protocol. She laughed in return, her small arms reaching around his neck and pulling him closer.
"If you ever stay to war for this long again, I'll have to come get you myself," she stated, gently reproaching him. She rubbed the back of his head, closing her eyes and relishing the fact that her son was finally home. She'd never tell him this, but she worried so terribly when he left, especially when he took so long to respond to her letters. She was always frightened that he might lose his life during one of his battles; Damon always reassured her every time he got back home that he wasn't so easy to kill off, but she still breathed a sigh of relief whenever he returned in one piece. That one time he returned with a small cut on his cheek he thought he'd never get free of her motherly arms again.
He pulled away from her, letting her cup his face in her hands gently, searching for an anomaly on his person. He smiled warmly, and she returned it when she saw that there were no scars; at least, none she could see. "I promise you, Mother, the next time I want to go to war I'll take you with me; can't take being away from your overprotectiveness for long. If I took you to battle, I think the enemy would surrender just so they wouldn't have to hear a speech over the impudence of trying to maim your eldest son," Damon responded, smiling impishly. His mother gasped around a smile and made to reply, but her husband stopped her with a firm hand.
Damon decided to move on before his father decided he'd been too kind to Damon and made him go right back to war. Smiling at his mother once more, he let first his eyes then his body travel to his brother, who'd been standing stiffly the whole time. "Come, Stefan, if you keep acting that way I might think you weren't happy to see me," Damon stated dryly, placing a hand on Stefan's shoulder. The two brothers studied each other, neither saying a word.
Their mother noticed. "Come, Giuseppe, let the two boys be," she stated, leading her husband away. He studied the two, his mouth turned down in a frown, before finally relenting to his wife and letting her take him back inside.
"Jesus, you'd think the guy didn't like me or something," Damon quipped, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. He'd never tell anyone this, but it really killed him when his father treated him this way; made it seem like a chore to greet his son at the door. Maybe the man had a reason for his hatred; Damon didn't know. Didn't really want to, either. He turned back to his brother when he noticed the younger Salvatore was shifting.
The two stared at each other like that for a bit, Stefan's bottom lip trembling slightly. Damon licked his lips, suddenly dry. "But where is Katherine?" He asked, breaking his brother's trance. Stefan shook his head, clenching his fists as his head cleared.
"She, uh," Stefan started, "she's out with some of the neighbors." Damon nodded his head, trying in vain to hide the disappointment and hurt from his face. The girl couldn't even wait a few minutes to greet Damon, who hadn't been home in six months? Damon ran a hand across his face, his demeanor shaken. Fuck, it seemed she was the only one who could do this to him.
Stefan, who had been watching his brother's anguish for too long, grabbed his forearm quickly, dragging him to the garden, the one they had both shared in their childhood, the one that if Stefan looked to always reminded him of his brother, those times they'd shared…Stefan shook his head, stalking forward with determination. "Stefan?!" Damon cried, surprise in his voice, "Stefan, where the hell are you taking me? I don't want to see the garden right now, idiot!" His words to no avail, Damon started digging his heels into the ground, grabbing at passing foliage in a vain attempt to be relinquished from his brother's grasp. Stefan just pressed on, until he reached a spot where the house's windows did not look out upon and their voices would not be heard.
He turned on his brother quickly, pushing him against a nearby tree. "Damon…" Stefan stated, his lips trembling, "Damon…" It seemed as though that was all the younger Salvatore could say; Damon studied his brother with bewildered eyes. He was used to Stefan's dramatics, but this was a little different. He wasn't used to his brother looking as though he could cry at any second.
"Stefan, what's wrong?" Damon asked, forgetting his former air of indifference. When Stefan got like this, it was normal for Damon's big brother instincts to kick in and his need to stop his brother's sadness outweighed everything else. "Stefan, seriously, tell me what's wrong," he said, letting his stance slacken and his expression soften.
Stefan studied his brother's eyes, his whole body now shaking. His conflicting feelings, his fluttering heart beating relentlessly against his ribcage, his normally useful brain…all were minor distractions when it came to Damon. These months of his absence had been agony for the young man; the thought of Damon leaving again made his insides quake and his throat constrict. His neck bent, so that his forehead rested against Damon's. Breathing deeply, Stefan let himself inhale the smell of his brother, noting the smell of gunpowder, horse, and soap that usually accompanied Damon's person. Stefan had come to love the smell. Sometimes, when Damon had been gone, he'd crept into his room in the dead of night and held one of his brother's coats against his face, breathing in the man he missed so.
His breath growing shaky with emotion, Stefan's lips parted of their own accord. "Damon…Damon, I missed you so much," he stated, his hands grabbing Damon's biceps and gripping hard, unwilling to let his brother go.
Damon's eyes widened. His brother didn't usually let himself go like this, and so far, he'd only done so when Damon truly betrayed his feelings. But Damon hadn't done anything this time, just…left. Biting his lip, Damon let his arms encircle Stefan's waist. He hadn't known just how attached Stefan was. "You know, Stefan," he started, not knowing how to continue. He'd never really been very good at realising feelings until they were apparent enough to smack him in the face. "You're still my brother. Distance isn't going to change that."
Stefan drew back, his face betraying how close to tears he was. "Damon…" he said, his breath catching as he tried to hold back his emotions. "Damon…" he said again, before his head lowered and his lips caught Damon's gently, almost reverentially.
Damon's eyes widened, caught off guard, before he found his bearings and gently pushed his brother away. "Stefan. Not again. We might have kissed each other when we were younger, and didn't really know ourselves, but we've grown. Even though we don't like it, we're both in love with Katherine, and we've grown out of our boyish nature. We—" his sentence was broken off by Stefan's lips, more urgent this time, forceful in the way they moved against Damon's. A hand slipping around his waist forced a gasp from Damon's now parted lips, granting access to Stefan's probing mouth. Rough, chapped lips moved against each other heatedly, Stefan's arms pulling Damon closer and hands exploring the planes of his back as Damon's hands almost unconsciously fisted into Stefan's shirt. It seemed rather natural when Stefan slipped his tongue in, exploring his brother's mouth in a way he hadn't in about two years. As if spurned on by this fact, Stefan deepened the kiss, his arms tightening, eyes closing, earnest feelings showing through the way he made sure he was gentle, taking care to not crush Damon's head between the tree and his own cranium.
Beyond his personal restraint, Damon let himself go, mouth reciprocating Stefan's kiss with a passion unknown to others who had had the pleasure of meeting their lips with his; his fisted hands drew Stefan lower, so they could be as close as possible. At moments when Stefan's tongue was not invading his mouth, Damon even went so far as to bite at Stefan's bottom lip, forcing himself not to draw blood. Katherine had instilled in him the idea drinking the blood of anyone but herself was wrong, at least for now.
The brothers' hands roamed each other's backs, arms, necks, hair. It seemed as though they did not need air anymore, just each other's discarded carbon dioxide. They lost the rough, forceful nature of the beginning of the kiss and soon grew gentler in their touches, running hands through hair, massaging backs, palms placing firmly on firm chests.
Just when it seemed as though they would stay together forever, a sound caught Damon's attention. His ears quirked at the sound, but didn't think much of it until it grew louder. "Damon, if you don't show yourself, I'll just have to send the dogs out for you," he heard, the unmistakable reproving yet distinguished voice of Katherine invading his ears. Damon pulled back from Stefan, using his brother's biceps to hold onto to keep himself steady.
The two, breathing hard, stared at each other, eyes speaking much more than their lips could even think to begin describing. Stefan's mouth was just opening when they heard her again, and this time closer. "Damon, I might have to punish you," Katherine stated, her tone now aggravated. The brothers looked at each other once more, before Stefan looked away, an angry, disappointed, love-sick expression on his face. Damon's expression shifted from frightened to astonished to apprehensive in the space of a few seconds.
"I…we can't do this anymore, Stefan," Damon said while looking away, biting his lip which still tasted of Stefan. Stefan's fists clenched at his sides, restraining himself from shaking Damon. He hated how this happened, how every time Damon finally rebuked him, after succumbing to his desire when the emotions grew too heated.
Stefan started to turn away, but looked back over his shoulder at the next second. "Damon…" he said, words trickling off as the two stared at each other. Suddenly, gaining courage, Stefan strode back, pulling Damon to him and placing a passionate yet gentle kiss on his brother's lips. When he pulled back, he wore an unreadable expression. "Just…don't forget the way I make you feel," Stefan whispered, placing a parting kiss on Damon's forehead before disappearing through the foliage. Just in time, for not a minute later Katherine came upon Damon, leaning against a tree and trying to regain his pose.
Katherine smiled predatorily. "Oh, Damon, I didn't realise I made you so weak in the knees that you had to hide from me," she purred, playing with his collar. Usually, Damon would have jumped at the opportunity to be drawn into one of her games, coming up with a clever enough quip to continue their flirting. For now, though, Damon's main thoughts were focused on Stefan, on the events that had transpired, things that Damon had sworn he would forget and move on from. It was wrong. It was terrible. It was incest.
"Damon?" Katherine asked, a little pissed off that her usual games weren't working on him right now. With a stutter of a heartbeat she wondered if his time spent at war had changed him, changed the devotion he felt for the vampire. Her eyes suddenly narrowed, her expression turning cold. "Maybe I'll just go inside and gift my attention to Stefan, since you're so caught up in your own thoughts you can't even greet me."
Damon's head shot up, a burst of jealousy shooting through his chest. Whether it was towards Stefan, Katherine, or both, Damon couldn't tell you, and frankly, did not want to discover it. He shook his head, his best attempt to clear his mind of all things including Stefan. "Ah, excuse me My Love, my thoughts were elsewhere," Damon apologised, a small smile on his lips.
Katherine's eyes narrowed further, studying the human. Something was obviously going on with him, more than he was telling her. She didn't like it whatsoever. Well, no matter, she'd find out tonight. Grabbing Damon's bicep, she pulled him along with her, walking toward the garden's exit. "Alright, I forgive you. Now, tell me all the adventures you went through looking after the generals," Katherine teased, resting her head on Damon's shoulder. Damon couldn't bring himself to respond, just laughed quietly. But as they left the garden, Damon couldn't help but look back to the space he'd just recently occupied with Stefan, their moment of passion still on his mind. Pressing his hand to a mark Stefan had carelessly left on his neck, Damon bit his lip. Fuck, he'd hoped this was over. At least, that was what he told himself.
It all started when they were young, very young. Stefan was four, Damon was six. They'd always been affectionate as children, holding hands when possible, sharing baths, spending all their time together. It was during one of their bouts of exploration of the garden, pretending they were army captains off to fight against the Redcoats, that it happened.
"Mister Englishman, I am sorry to say that today is the last day you will breathe," Damon stated, a smirk darkening his features.
Stefan, wearing the one red coat he owned, which his father would tan his hide for if he found out, glared cockily up at his brother. "No, Sir, I'm afraid you're wrong. It is you who shall lose your life!" Stefan cried out in a terrible version of and English accent. The two held each other at wooden sword-point, both convinced they could end the other's life.
The boys always switched off in their roles, and today was Stefan's day to play the part of the Englishman. He didn't mind, though; he loved seeing Damon in his dashing blue coat, losing himself in their imaginations and finding a regal yet dark sort of side to himself.
Damon responded to Stefan's comment with a wicked laugh, his eyes glinting with danger as his wrist twitched, his sword moving in for the kill only to be rebuffed by Stefan's own sword. The two glared at each other, studying the other and guessing at what move he would make, when they suddenly heard the sound of their father's voice. "If those boys are ruining their good clothes, I'll make a mark on their rear ends so dark they won't be able to sit down for weeks!"
The boys shared terrified looks, both knowing their father would make good on his promise. Foregoing their swords, the two grabbed hands and ran further into the garden, towards a hiding place they'd discovered not long ago. They ducked into the foliage, squirming in and squeezing tight together as they heard their father walk through the garden, his steps growing closer to their spot. The two brothers placed a hand on the other's mouth to make sure none made a sound. Their hearts beat faster as their father passed by, extremely loud to their sensitive ears. They were afraid that their father might find them out just due to their erratic heartbeats. They saw his feet stop next to their hiding place, sensing his large and encroaching form close above them. Finally, he left, off to investigate a sound he heard further away.
The boys sank, their bodies losing the tension they had so recently worn. They looked to each other, a cautious look on Stefan's face and a gloating one on Damon's. "Hah, he didn't even realise we were right under his nose!" Damon exclaimed, courage suddenly returning now that his father could no longer find him.
Stefan smiled slowly, shaking his head. "That was close," he pointed out, rubbing his arms to get rid of the goose bumps that had arisen at the thought of his father's punishment.
"Close, but no cigar," Damon stated proudly, grinning. Stefan grinned back, gaining courage at his brother's cockiness. Suddenly, he thought to himself that now was a good time to kiss Damon. And so he did, leaning forward to place a light peck on Damon's lips. It was a slow, innocent, love-filled little kiss that spoke wonders of the affections the two brothers had for each other.
When they finally pulled away, Damon's hand touched his lips, warmed from his brother's. He'd never thought of kissing his brother before, but now that they had, he wanted to again. So he leaned forward, placing his own innocent kiss on Stefan's lips.
Soon it turned into a sort of game, the two brothers stealing kisses from each other, each tallying up how many they had stolen. The fact that they enjoyed the kisses was a bonus; they would have done it just so they could one-up each other. They finally stopped when the sun started to set, breathless with laughter.
"I think we'd better get home now; dinner should be ready. We're probably in a lot of trouble already," Damon stated, pulling away from his brother's embrace, whose arms had seemed to unconsciously wrap around his older brother.
Stefan nodded, hugging his arms to himself. Now that they weren't in contact, Stefan realised how wrong that felt to himself. The only time he felt alright was when Damon was as close as possible. Stefan's lower lip trembled, his eyes suddenly watering. Damon noticed, his eyes widening. "Wah…Stefan, what's wrong with you?" He cried out, his expression disbelieving yet concerned.
Wiping at his eyes futilely, Stefan stuttered out his answer. "I-I duh-don't wan-na let yuh-you go," he stated, starting to leak tears.
Damon's eyes widened further, before he bit his lip and smiled lovingly. He pulled his younger brother to himself, stroking his hair. "Don't worry," he stated, kissing the top of Stefan's head, "we'll always be together. I'm your big brother. I'll never let you go."
"Stefan, what the hell is wrong with you?!" Damon's voice was heard from above, and Stefan looked up to the staircase, a questioning look on his face. When Damon appeared at the banister, Stefan sighed.
"What, Damon? What now?" He asked, exasperation in his voice.
"Don't 'what' me, Little Brother," Damon seethed, placing emphasis on the word "Little" to make Stefan feel inadequate, "You know I told you time and again that I don't like it when you spill things on the carpet and don't clean up! This shit cost money, not that you'd care, Mr. Teenage Dream," Damon bit out.
Sighing, Stefan placed the book he'd been pretending to read on the table, leaning back in his chair. He'd been caught up in memories of what had once been, and it was kind of hard to keep his mind on the present when the past was so much more tempting to him. "Alright, Mr. Alcoholic Vampire, I'll clean up after myself when you leave me and my girlfriend alone." He hated doing this, but it seemed to be the only thing that kept Damon engaged these days.
Stefan got the reaction he'd been hoping for. Damon's face grew furious, a side-effect of the fact that he refused to show sorrow anymore. He couldn't let Stefan know how shit like that affected him; then he would be the weak one, not the pussy who drank bunny blood to make himself feel good enough to attend high school…again. "Maybe it's not me who needs to leave people alone; maybe you'll remember, Brother, that every time you move some place different, it's you who brings trouble."
Ah, Damon had him on that one. He really did get all the people he met into trouble. Sighing, Stefan ran a hand through his hair. He wasn't sure where to go from here; he never really did enjoy insulting Damon, or being insulted by him in turn. It's just, how else were you supposed to communicate with someone who refused to accept his feelings for someone? Stefan bit his lip, a habit he'd picked up from Damon (probably from staring at the older vampire too much) as he tried to remember the last time he'd gotten a decent conversation out of his brother, one that didn't involve the threat of one of his human friend's lives, or God forbid, Elena's.
None. He couldn't think of one time they talked, actually spoke to each other without tearing down each other's confidence. Damn, but Stefan missed it. Missed being able to talk to the one person who actually understood him, who actually accepted him for who he was, who actually loved him so much he would pretend he didn't.
Stefan looked to Damon, a look of complete sorrow in his eyes. Damon caught the look, shrinking back from the banister at the sight. 'Goddammit, Stefan,' he thought, running a hand through his hair, 'You're really not making this easy for me. How the hell am I supposed to continue pretending to hate you?' He sighed, shaking his head. At times like these, it was best for him to just leave. That way, nothing remotely unacceptable could happen.
He strode down the stairs, purpose in his stride. Stefan gazed questioningly at him, that sad look still on his face. Damon ignored his brother, grabbing his coat and making for the door. Stefan was faster.
Stepping in between his elder brother and the door, Stefan crossed his arms, a look saying 'I will not budge until you tell me what the hell you're doing' etched across his face. Damon sighed, placing his hands on his temples in frustration. "You have no need to know where I'm going! I'm not your goddamn child, or your friend, or your goddamn girlfriend! Now leave me the fuck alone, Stefan!" He pushed Stefan out of his way, again walking to the door. Stefan caught his wrist.
"I wasn't the one who made that decision, Damon," Stefan stated, that sad look back in his eyes.
Not thinking due to his anger, Damon huffed out a breath. He got impatient easily. "What decision, Little Brother?"
Stefan bit his lip again, eyes somehow growing even more sorrowful. "I wasn't the one who rejected you."
Damon's eyes widened, his mouth open in shock. Fuck, but he hadn't expected that. It was a sort of unspoken rule, 'Don't talk about their past.' Stefan just kind of fucked that up. Damon's mouth opened and closed, searching for his thoughts; Stefan really bowled him over. Finally, Damon realised he'd allowed Stefan to hold his wrist for much too long. He pulled it away, wiping at it as though it was infected. "Well, I guess you didn't. I did. So leave me the fuck alone." Damon stormed out of the house, slamming the door on his brother, his arm still outstretched, as though he thought Damon might return to his senses and admit to his feelings. Shaking his head and rubbing the back of his hand against his eyes (he supposed he got something in them as he left; that was the only explanation he could think of for the moisture behind them) Damon stalked off, not knowing exactly what his destination was, and really not caring. He just had to get the fuck away from Stefan before he lost his self-restraint.