Title: Tenebrosity
Fandom: Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Damon/Elena
Summary: Elena's anguished reflections of a mistake she fears she's repeat.
Notes: Alright, so! This is my first shot at VD and, honestly, my longest fic in years. Ian and Nina's amazing chemistry spurs me to take the plunge so I hope you all enjoy. Also, this is set sometime after Fool Me Once and is purely set within the t.v. series.
Disclaimer: Not mine, yadda, yadda.
Elena pressed her back into the wet tiles and tried to slide beneath her thoughts, away from dark, falling feelings.
"God.."
She just needed to get out of here, hurry it up, out the door. Her hands curled down her throat, rough and angry, and all she wanted to do was lie near the drain and close her eyes. Elena shifted, stepping on the discarded wash cloth, yanking her hair from her shoulders to let the water fill her skin.
It spread through her, this thing, a long and swaying dark that moved her bones like trees in the night. She wanted to fall through her chest, beneath the sour weight of guilt that pressed her there, pinned her still, making her legs bend, wet, shaking, until she knelt on the shower floor. Swelling beneath her throat, sharp, blue, was a memory, and she wanted to choke it down, never taste it again--
There's laughing and drinking and buzzing blood and it's a little harder to stand. She's ready to dance and only stops when blue eyes cut over her--
This was all she could do. Elena pulled the cloth down her shoulder and drew a watery breath, but the shower was still too hot and she was probably sitting on a razor and, now, all she wanted to do was cry--
He's saying something, smirking, but on his face is something else, caught, unsure, and she's walking over to him, crossing over words and blurring--
There was a tumbling in her head, tangled, confused, and the images were hotly unwelcome and came to her like claws drawing down--
There's a walk to the kitchen she can't remember and she's not alone. Something turns over inside, a gathering in her chest that words find and she can't help it when she says, "I think you should stay."
This stops his colorful opinion of why little black dresses are an essential accessory to every sensible woman's wardrobe and why on EARTH did she not have one? He frowns thoughtfully, giving the cabinet above her head the dramatic eye before he moves a step, two steps closer, arms folded. His voice reaches between them. "That's a change, now, isn't it?" He studies her guardedly. "Not what you said when--"
"I know," she cuts, as though to balance herself. She's warm and swaying inside with two shot too many but she needs him to understand. "But I think… I think it'd be good for you. To stay. And I know, you're still hurting over Katherine and everything. I'm sorry. I just--and yeah, I know I said it'd be good to go, get away, have space, no more brother-drama…" she's babbling right into disaster but her mouth keeps moving and she doesn't know how to stop it. "Yeah. You know?" a clumsy shrug, nervous, "I think it'd be good for you. Here. With people you know. People you're familiar with. That always helps a little, right?"
She has no idea what the fuck she's saying or why she needs to dig at fresh wounds but he doesn't seem to mind because he's so close. His eyes are azure fire and now there is a smile, small and real, hooking the corner of his mouth, belying his teasing tone. "You want me to stay."
White panic stabs her belly and she flounders inside, realizing things are leaning out of her control. "You asked me if you should stay in Mystic Falls and so… I don't know. I just think it'd be good for you. To stay," she finishes lamely, hands fluttering helpless gestures at her sides.
Elena dropped her head in her palms, wanting to tear away from herself, pale and open. It was hard to say what happened next. She'd been so heavy and hopeful that night. Damon had stayed away for several weeks after the tomb incident, after being slit right through and left aside, and it was her birthday and she'd been drinking when she realized, that night, she didn't want him to be alone, to feel alone--
Stillness. Deepening, slow, heating as it lengthens. There is a falling sadness that sharpens her inside and there is no breath as fingers stroke her collarbone, beneath the necklace. She watches his throat work in a hard swallow, jaw firmly set, and when her mouth opens for words he covers her, lips and tongue and teeth.
The needle heat of the water wasn't enough and all she could do was press her brow against her knees. She had let it all happen so fast--
Hands spread up her ribs, beneath her shirt, thumbs brushing the under swell of her breasts and it is so much she can't breathe. Her head turns and her hands are weak, falling, down his back, through leather and black and spine.
There are words in her hair, down her jaw, and then a sound that tugs from her--high, breathy--as she bends beneath his mouth, the white star of teeth.
It's madness, sick and sad and long, right through her center, and she doesn't care, but then he's talking again, reminding her, and she waits as he goes still.
"You don't want this."
Her hands won't find the wall behind her but they stop on his chest in a fragile spread. There is something on his face, unreadable, brows bent, breathing hard, and he's searching her too deeply.
Elena closes her eyes against it.
She pulls low for her voice and already knows saying it will make it all feel wrong. "Damon…"
He's close again, lips on her temple, shaky breath; damp, slight presses trailing down to the shell of her ear. "You don't want this," he says again and this time it sounds so much like pleading.
She won't speak, can't, and she is so lost and dark that she aches. Her head rolls against the wall and he is closer now, hungering, devouring the white line of her throat in open-mouthed kisses. This can't stop, it's so good, and she rubs herself over him, desperate, needy, and she won't speak again except that she does, his name a thin, spilling shadow from her lips.
Stillness. Fingers on her jaw tilt her head forward and bare, blue eyes take her in. His face is softened by something she can't explore and he says her name, so quiet, gentle, that it tears her open.
Elena left after that.
The shower had long since lost its heat and her skin was puckered. Turning the water off she sat back on the floor, legs curled beneath her, and cried.