Title: Damon Gets Dressed (1/1)
Author: Janie
Email: SwtAzSugar46@aol.com
Rating: PG-13 for cursing
Based on: VD
Spoilers: All VD
Summary: A short scene. Damon attempts to dress himself with no servants.
Disclaimers: All characters and such belong to LJ Smith. No profit is being
made, this is for entertainment purposes only.
Note: Feedback is appreciated! Even though this isn't much, I still wouldn't
mind hearing from you! Thanks.
Italian words:
-Pensione = Inn
-Vestiti bei = Beautiful clothes
-Basta! = Enough!
-Ma che vuole = What do you want?
***
First night alive again -- or perhaps, dead? -- No matter, either way, it was
his first night since awakening in that awful coffin next to Stefan.
Alone at last, away from the city, and in the quiet interior of a vacated
_pensione_, he was at peace. After he'd managed to find a store open at this hour
he purchased a new outfit, and using his handy dandy new powers, he'd
persuaded the owner of the clothing shop to forget he was ever a customer.
He looked at the clothing on the bed. _Vesiti bei._ They were honestly
beautiful, expensive (of course!), pieces of clothing.
Now, what to do about getting dressed?
Damon huffed.
"I can do it; I'm Damon Salvatore, and I can dress myself."
Picking up the crimson colored shirt, he slipped one arm through, followed by
the other. After adjusting the cuffs, he looked at the small circular objects
attatched to the sides of the front.
He narrowed his eyes at them, annoyed.
"Just what the hell are those things? And why the HELL are there so _many!_"
He raged. This was absolutley ridiculous.
He groaned. And those little slits on the OTHER side of the shirt. Just what
the FUCK were _those_ damned things for?!
"Whoever invented this stupid idea in the first place?!" Damon wailed.
Damon threw his hands up in despair. "Forget it! The shirt can stay
open...Quite frankly, my chest is very sexy, if I do say so myself."
He didn't need those stupid servants! He could manage just fine.
He picked up his hose, hopping up and down to get all of the hose up. All the
material bunched up at his knees first and so he reached down and yanked up
again. With a sharp tearing noise, a run began down his leg.
"_Basta!_ What possessed a man to make these damn, itchy, thin, UGLY, leg
things ANYWAY?!"
Damon gripped the top of the hose, which was still only at the top of his
thighs, and tugged. And tugged, and tugged...All the while, jumping again to help
the process. (Or so he thought).
He yanked extremely hard, and the pantyhose pulled up to his stomach. He let
go with an elastic snap.
Damon looked down and snarled at the tight elastic digging into his skin and
the sheer colored hose stretched over his smooth stomach . He plopped down on
the bed with an angry, evil-eyed glare.
There was a loud rip again. And Damon stood up, feeling a draft on his
behind.
"Un-fucking-believable!"
Tugging the damnable fabric off his stomach, legs and feet, he heaved it
across the room with a stream of a million swear words rambled off in Italian.
"_MA CHE VUOLE? STUPIDO VESTITI!_" He screamed. He repeated, louder, in
English this time, "WHAT DO YOU WANT? STUPID CLOTHES! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM
MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
Panting, trying to regulate his rapid breathing and calm his temper, he
looked around the room. All that was left to put on (or attempt to) were his pants.
He didn't need the damn hose. Besides, he told himself, they were ugly
anyway.
He eyed his pants suspisciously, contemplating whether or not the garments
would trick and aggravate him as well. Finally, he grabbed them. "These I can
do." And he did.
FIN.
Author: Janie
Email: SwtAzSugar46@aol.com
Rating: PG-13 for cursing
Based on: VD
Spoilers: All VD
Summary: A short scene. Damon attempts to dress himself with no servants.
Disclaimers: All characters and such belong to LJ Smith. No profit is being
made, this is for entertainment purposes only.
Note: Feedback is appreciated! Even though this isn't much, I still wouldn't
mind hearing from you! Thanks.
Italian words:
-Pensione = Inn
-Vestiti bei = Beautiful clothes
-Basta! = Enough!
-Ma che vuole = What do you want?
***
First night alive again -- or perhaps, dead? -- No matter, either way, it was
his first night since awakening in that awful coffin next to Stefan.
Alone at last, away from the city, and in the quiet interior of a vacated
_pensione_, he was at peace. After he'd managed to find a store open at this hour
he purchased a new outfit, and using his handy dandy new powers, he'd
persuaded the owner of the clothing shop to forget he was ever a customer.
He looked at the clothing on the bed. _Vesiti bei._ They were honestly
beautiful, expensive (of course!), pieces of clothing.
Now, what to do about getting dressed?
Damon huffed.
"I can do it; I'm Damon Salvatore, and I can dress myself."
Picking up the crimson colored shirt, he slipped one arm through, followed by
the other. After adjusting the cuffs, he looked at the small circular objects
attatched to the sides of the front.
He narrowed his eyes at them, annoyed.
"Just what the hell are those things? And why the HELL are there so _many!_"
He raged. This was absolutley ridiculous.
He groaned. And those little slits on the OTHER side of the shirt. Just what
the FUCK were _those_ damned things for?!
"Whoever invented this stupid idea in the first place?!" Damon wailed.
Damon threw his hands up in despair. "Forget it! The shirt can stay
open...Quite frankly, my chest is very sexy, if I do say so myself."
He didn't need those stupid servants! He could manage just fine.
He picked up his hose, hopping up and down to get all of the hose up. All the
material bunched up at his knees first and so he reached down and yanked up
again. With a sharp tearing noise, a run began down his leg.
"_Basta!_ What possessed a man to make these damn, itchy, thin, UGLY, leg
things ANYWAY?!"
Damon gripped the top of the hose, which was still only at the top of his
thighs, and tugged. And tugged, and tugged...All the while, jumping again to help
the process. (Or so he thought).
He yanked extremely hard, and the pantyhose pulled up to his stomach. He let
go with an elastic snap.
Damon looked down and snarled at the tight elastic digging into his skin and
the sheer colored hose stretched over his smooth stomach . He plopped down on
the bed with an angry, evil-eyed glare.
There was a loud rip again. And Damon stood up, feeling a draft on his
behind.
"Un-fucking-believable!"
Tugging the damnable fabric off his stomach, legs and feet, he heaved it
across the room with a stream of a million swear words rambled off in Italian.
"_MA CHE VUOLE? STUPIDO VESTITI!_" He screamed. He repeated, louder, in
English this time, "WHAT DO YOU WANT? STUPID CLOTHES! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM
MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
Panting, trying to regulate his rapid breathing and calm his temper, he
looked around the room. All that was left to put on (or attempt to) were his pants.
He didn't need the damn hose. Besides, he told himself, they were ugly
anyway.
He eyed his pants suspisciously, contemplating whether or not the garments
would trick and aggravate him as well. Finally, he grabbed them. "These I can
do." And he did.
FIN.